


Cosmic Castaway: The New Divide

by cazflibs



Series: The Ace Chronicles [9]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 78,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dwarfers face their toughest adventure yet when foreboding prophecies, intergalactic war, and dimensional anomalies threaten to tear them apart. However, they never suspected their most feared enemy could be lurking in their very midst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These games we play

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an idea from MaxEvelyn

This has been a long time in the coming.

Tonga had been right. The holograms had grown too arrogant for their own good.

McGruder had been right. Simulants couldn't resist trying to kill the indestructible.

And then there was the prophecy, where simple words had woven predictions of such darkness and destruction. A prophecy in which the disparate species of this universe - holograms, simulants and the last human beings alive - would all play a part.

Yet what none of them had realised, was that events were already in motion. In fact, they had been in motion for the last ten years.

And soon - very soon - the top would stop spinning, the wheel would stop turning. Then like far-flung stars pulled into the eternal, destructive swirl of a black hole, those once arbitrary would be drawn together to face their destiny.

And things would never be the same again.

* * *

Having long forgotten its original mission after three million years, the JMC mining ship _Red Dwarf_ glided majestically past the silent stars, unfazed by the dangerous yet beautiful depths of un-chartered deep space. Inside, however, the air was less than serene.

Holding court around the scanner table, the four remaining crewmembers sat in still, grave silence. The light matrix of the scanner readout bathed their faces with an eerie green glow as their tense gazes flitted between each other and the table as they assessed the situation.

Rimmer shook his head. "It's not looking good."

Kryten nodded his agreement, his neon blue eyes imploring to his human master. "It's certainly not advisable, sir," he echoed.

"Hey, hey!" Lister cut in tersely. "I know the stakes are high, but I say go for it." Shielding his playing cards, he drew forth his favourite Rasta Billy Skank CD, sliding the case across the table to join the various assortment of treasures in the centre with unreserved confidence. "I'm in."

He was met with mocking whistles and jeers from the rest of the group as they each masked smirks behind their playing cards. Unfazed, Lister took a cursory swig from his beer bottle.

"You see, unlike you guys I have faith in my skills," he chided, tapping a turmeric-stained finger to his temple. "It's all about thinking ahead. Playing the long game."

An un-amused eyebrow flicked above Rimmer's hand. "You mean you've marked the cards again?" he baited.

Lister didn't reply, an act even more unsettling than his usual bite-backs to Rimmer's insults. Instead, his expression remained unreadable as he replaced the beer bottle on the table. It was the same poker face Rimmer knew all-too-well he'd been putting on for the last six weeks - since the incident on the Blerion trading post.

Ever since they'd returned to _Red Dwarf_ , Rimmer had sensed Lister's unease about what had happened. The premise that he'd once been Ace had been teasingly brief, but met with such fear and awkwardness that it could only raise further questions.

On several occasions, he'd tried to pry out more information from the man, only to be met with deliberate silence or, when pushed further, an uncharacteristic snapped response to drop the subject. So now it had become an unspoken point of contention. A giant white elephant in the room that nobody was allowed to talk about.

Even Lister's priorities seemed to have done a 180 turn. As little as two months ago, Rimmer was berating him for putting their lives at risk on a daily basis. They'd spent almost a year hailing potentially unfriendly GELF ships, braving wibbly-wobbly swirly things, and searching derelicts so ancient and unstable they threatened to disintegrate into a ship-quake if one of them so much as sneezed too loudly. All in the name of one quest - to find Kochanski.

Yet now, _Red Dwarf_ was almost constantly on silent running. They avoided blips on the scanner scope like the plague. And so much as a fleeting mention of a nearby ship would send Lister sweating more profusely than a particularly adventurous vindaloo session.

However, despite the tension and wariness, it had been increasingly noticed over the last few weeks that supplies on the ship were dangerously low. It was critical. It was becoming a life or death situation.

 _Red Dwarf_ was completely out of beer. Utterly devoid of cigarettes. And there wasn't a single, lonesome bottle of Tabasco sauce to be seen.

And so when the _SS Constantine_ showed up on the scanners that morning, it had been a perfect time to re-stock. Not that Rimmer minded, despite his characteristic whinging and grumbling. After all, it was a perfect excuse to indulge in a little goody-reaping of his own - stocking up on hologrammatic upgrades.

The hologram suite onboard the _Constantine_ had held a vast plethora of system upgrades - programmes that promised greater touch sensation and heightened taste abilities. And he made swift use of them all. Running the programmes and recalibrating his hard light remote belt, he aligned his projection signal with that of the suite system in order to accept each and every one of them. Synthetic as they were, they allowed him to take those tiny yet important steps closer towards making him feel human again.

Yet right at this moment in time, the only sensations he was getting were the strong wisps of cigarette smoke that curled from Lister's open mouth to assault his flared nostrils. And an increasingly grating headache that somehow refused to shift.

He wafted at the oncoming cloud, sending it to join the canopy of smoke that hung silently above them. "Do you mind, Lister?" he snapped irritably. "If you work your way through yet another pack of those cigarettes we're going to need a fog-horn in here to direct us to safe ground."

Lister rolled his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, man," he sighed, patiently waiting for Kryten to unscrew the numerous fiddly bolts on his wrist. He was clearly going to throw his hand in - and he didn't mean his cards. "I'm just making up for lost time."

With the bets all in, the group took it in turn to lay down what they hoped to be the winning play.

Rimmer growled irritably. "Pair of fives," he huffed. He knew it wasn't going to be enough judging by the ill-concealed smirks from Lister and the Cat.

"Three of a kind for me, sirs," Kryten offered, his trio of jacks sitting together in a neat row.

Lister placed his hand down with a flourish. A collection of spades. "Oh yes!" he cried. "Guys, I think you'll find _that_ to be a flush." He threw Kryten a cheeky Liverpudlian wink. "Shall I be having your goodies?"

"Hold up, monkey," the Cat snorted playfully. "Not unless you reckon that a measly flush can beat a full house!" He placed his collection of cards - three kings and two fives, the latter much to Rimmer's annoyance - on the scanner table before them. He flashed a toothy grin. "Read 'em and weep, fellas!"

There was a collective grown of disappointment from the trio. Lister muttered obscenities into his beer bottle.

Kryten eyed his detached hand mournfully before a sneaky tactic formulated itself in his CPU. "Without my full inventory compliment, I might be unable to complete tonight's laundry, sirs," he fretted. The mechanoid risked a glance at the Cat out the corner of his eye. "I'd hate for any zebra-patterned jackets or black-shimmered trousers not to be ready for tomorrow's wear," he ventured.

Lister grinned to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette. It was a bold move for a mechanoid. Kryten had clearly been living with humans for far too long if his programming was capable of replicating Bitch Mode.

"Nice try, Butterpat Head, but I know where you keep your stash of spare parts," the Cat countered with a flick of a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. "I shall be _wearing_ that suit tomorrow."

Rimmer's nostrils flared as he watched the Cat scoop up his prized collection of Naploeon's memoirs with the rest of the junk assortment. He shot him a death stare that was sure to strike off one of his nine lives. If that stupid feline used the pages to line his litter tray, he'd flush out the rest of the ship's stock of tuna into space. "I swear blind I'm getting worse at this," he grumbled under his breath.

"Like you were ever any good to start with," came a muttered reply.

"Smeg off, Lister," Rimmer bit back; although deep down, he was sure he was losing his touch tonight.

Despite the original reason for its inception - a promise of at least one drunken night of games and laughs each month - Rimmer took Poker Night incredibly seriously. After all, he was a conniving weasel of a man who simply hated losing. He'd meticulously read up on poker techniques whenever he thought the others wouldn't notice. He'd plan out strategies in his notebook, furiously scribbling them down in neat copperplate handwriting, as if he were orchestrating one of his Risk battles.

And of course, he was more than prepared to cheat.

Last month, a cleverly-concealed queen of hearts duplicate had been the key to securing his much-needed royal flush and winning Lister's guitar in the final round of the night. The Scouser had clearly had one too many tipples if he was bold enough to believe he could risk his prized instrument over a pair of threes.

When Rimmer had won it - much to the barely-concealed joy of the others - Lister had begged and _pleaded_ for the chance to win it back. A long, slurred list of promises had spilled forth - no munching at poppadoms over Rimmer's shoulder whilst he was trying to revise; no plucking his nostril hairs with cooking tongs; no switching his Hammond Organ music CD for Rasta Billy Skank in _Starbug's_ cockpit - but all to no avail.

The prize was won. Through a combination of wit, skill and downright deceptiveness, Rimmer was the uncontested poker champion of the universe. Not a huge accomplishment really, when the only arguable sentient life their universe had to offer was one remaining human, a dead man, an evolved feline and a mechanoid who had a fetish for cleaning toilets.

But tonight he felt _different_. Whether it be skill, mojo or straight-forward luck, something simply wasn't there anymore. _Something_ was distinctly missing, having buggered off to places unknown and not bothering to leave a note.

Yet against his better judgement - and perhaps thanks to a drive far too instinctive to Arnold J. Rimmer to ignore - he felt an overwhelming urge to see Lister lose. He would dangle the prized carrot to see how high this dumpy onion of a man could jump.

"OK then, mi'laddo," he smiled a vulture's smile. "Then let's see how good _you_ are." Rimmer regarded Lister through hooded eyes. "Just you and me on this one. Win this round and I'll give you back your guitar." He paused for dramatic effect. "If _I_ win, the guitar is flushed into outer space with the rest of this week's rubbish."

Lister blinked, surprised. "You serious, man?" he grinned.

"Completely."

Nodding enthusiastically, Lister rubbed his hands together with glee. "Deal."

With the wariness clear in his computer-blue eyes, Kryten dealt the cards once more. Unlikely as the premise seemed, both he and the Cat were rather keen on the hologram winning for once, especially if it resulted in the demise of that tortured, noise-polluting safety hazard.

Rimmer regarded Lister slyly over the top of his cards. It was strange to see him looking so animated and excited about something for the first time in weeks. Ever since _that_ incident, he'd been acting incredibly strangely around him. He'd often catch Lister staring at him out of the corner of his eye when he thought he wouldn't notice - at the breakfast table, calibrating coordinates with the mainframe, revising on his bunk.

And when they _did_ speak with one another on those rare, civil occasions, it was almost as if Lister was looking through him or past him. As if he were searching his eyes for something or _someone_ else he couldn't quite make out, or was no longer there.

An ugly scowl crept across Rimmer's face. The little bastard _was_ hiding something about him and Ace, he just knew it.

He watched as Lister slid three cards over to Kryten to change. Not an overly confident sign, he noted. His attentions turned back to his own hand - a pair of kings, a nine of hearts, and a three and a ten of clubs. He cursed inwardly. Not bad but not great.

The timeless dilemma reared its ugly head. Build upon the pair? Or try for the flush?

After some careful thought (and a little dabble in _Ippy Dippy_ ) he too abandoned three of his cards, leaving the kings in play. Kryten slid back three cards from the pile and he drew them up to join the royalty.

Oh bloody buggering hell.

A four of diamonds, a jack of spades, and an eight of hearts.

He glanced across at Lister. He wasn't showing any signs of smug celebration either. Perhaps his hand was just as useless.

Rimmer bit his lip and went for the plunge, laying down his cards. "Pair of kings," he stated matter-of-factly, praying to a God he didn't believe in that it would be enough to let him win.

Unfortunately, it seemed that God was attending to slightly more pressing business, as a cocky grin tobogganed across Lister's chipmunk cheeks. He threw down his cards in triumph. "There'll be another rendition of _Baby, I Want Your Love Thing_ tonight, guys. Two kings and an ace kicker!"

Rimmer stared in disbelief at the offending hand as Lister performed a seated victory dance before lighting up yet another cigarette. Indeed, the rival kings flanked a two of diamonds, a nine of clubs, and an ace of hearts.

The Cat groaned audibly, his head sinking in his hands. "The only way I'm gonna get any sleep tonight is if we're at least fifty decks apart," he sulked.

Yet Rimmer remained silent, staring hard at the ace that lay smugly in the middle of the action, as if it were mimicking its arrogant namesake.

" _Ace_ saves the day again," he sniped meaningfully, his voice hard but low. "I've got to wonder how you do it, Lister. Is it luck of the draw?" He stared at him unflinchingly. "Or perhaps there's some secret you're not telling me?"

A horribly awkward silence descended on the room; a dense fog that seemed to sink through the darkness, sitting heavy on their shoulders. Under Rimmer's accusatory glare, Lister's eyes flitted up to meet his through the swirling clouds of cigarette smoke. He said nothing.

Rimmer ground his teeth. "Thought so." He pushed back his chair and tossed the cards onto the table. "If you'd excuse me?"

Nobody watched him leave. They merely listened as echoed footsteps strode purposefully towards the corridor, the metal door sliding shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Lister's eyes sank closed. He couldn't do this forever.


	2. SS Occassus

The hologram combat vessel  _SS Occassus_ had descended into chaos. So much for a Saturday morning lie-in then.

It was the last thing that Captain Viktoras had been expecting. News that your best soldiers had suddenly turned insane and were embarking on a ship-wide killing spree wasn't the most welcome interruption to one's breakfast.

Now crouched with the remainder of his crew behind the barricade - hastily constructed from the metal chairs and tables of the Science Lab - he listened as a series of almighty  _clangs_ sounded from beyond the door, where the deranged were demanding entrance. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed that his cornflakes were now becoming decidedly soggy.

"How the hell did this happen?" he barked to the young Lieutenant crouched to his right. To Viktoras, it was merely a straightforward enquiry (and rather polite he thought, considering the early hour and lack of caffeine). But judging by the Lieutenant's subsequent cowering and spittle-coated features, it was obvious that his tone was perhaps a tad intimidating.

Lieutenant Hayes swallowed, watching as Viktoras' square-set jaw tensed visibly. His untimely demise had been rather a frighteningly violent one - having met his end at a simulant war camp more dank and depressing than the  _Butlins_ at Skegness. But not even that nightmarish hell-hole could match the undiluted fear this man could instil in him with just a single look.

"I-I don't know, sir," he mumbled in apology. The pair ducked their heads as another harrowing pound at the door threatened to break through, forcing the group to brace their collective weight against the steel defence. "The science officers believe it's a holo-virus of some sort."

"Holo-virus?" Viktoras snapped. "I thought those bloody technical bods had reported only last week that the virus-scans were bang up to date?" He ground his teeth. "Why the hell didn't they follow correct protocol upon returning to the ship?"

"They did, sir," Hayes ventured awkwardly. "But the scans didn't seem to pick anything up." Fishing out an electronic notebook from his belt, he watched as the screen reeled with green neon text of the report, reading aloud as it scrolled.

" _Routine recon procedure of hologrammatic upgrades from derelict ship_ _ **SS Constantine**_ _._

 _Combat soldier roster: - Boyle, Frost, Gallagher, Murray and Watling_

 _  
**21:18**   
_   
_–_   
_Following a successful mission, all combat solders returned to the Occassus, docking in Bay 47._

 _  
**21:27**   
_   
**–**   
_Weaponry returned to Munitions Unit. Signed in by Officer Gillam._

 _  
**21:46**   
_   
_–_   
_Soldiers reconvened at the Lab for full debriefing to the Science Officers on duty._

 _  
**22:12**   
_   
_–_   
_Hot chocolate served with those little teensy marshmallow and chocolate sprinkles._

 _  
**22:37**   
_   
_–_   
_Virus screening completed by Science Officer McCloud. All clear given._

 _  
**22:58**   
_   
_–_   
_Sign out."_

Glancing to their left, the pair regarded McCloud's lanky, be-spectacled form cowering with the Science Staff collective. The man clutched pathetically at a makeshift weapon fashioned from a fire extinguisher, as if it would form any semblance of defence against raging lunatics. Viktoras face darkened like a gathering storm. If these relaxation breathing exercises didn't kick in soon, McCloud risked exiting the  _Occassus_ through the nearest airlock.

"This morning their readouts were off the chart, sir," Hayes offered. "The virus seems to have heightened their sensory capacity and physical strength." He braced his weight against the barricade as another series of  _clangs_ sounded at the door.

As silence descended once more, he mopped his brow with the red-striped sleeve of his otherwise jet-black uniform and continued. "Their memory banks have been completely corrupted," he explained. "Some files have been deleted altogether whilst more negative drives seemed to have been enhanced beyond recognition. They don't seem to recognise anyone around them." Hayes swallowed a second time, his throat suddenly dry. "Didn't even blink when they killed them all - "

Viktoras ran a comb of fingers over his dark receding hair - cropped literally to an inch of its life - and allowed a low soothing growl to rumble forth from the depths of his chest. Enough chat.

"How many left?" he asked evenly.

"Of the original five?" Hayes ventured. A combination of air-lock flushes, incineration and light bee shut-downs had wiped out all but one. He hung his head in reverence. "Just Murray, sir."

Nodding thoughtfully, Viktoras drew forth his trusted pair of silver-plated Glock 17s. "Well then," he sighed. "I think it's time we put in a call to HR and furnish Murray with his permanent P45, don't you?" He loaded both guns with the ammo from his belt. "Now," he announced to the group. "Arm yourselves."

Hayes watched with open-mouthed disbelief. "B-but sir," he implored. "Technically he's still functional. If we could only just isolate the virus - "

He stopped short as Viktoras snared him roughly by the throat, eyes blazing with restrained fury. He could feel the cold chamber metal pressing against the soft skin of his neck, his lightbee recreating every shiver of sensation.

"You really think that  _Murray_  - " Viktoras hissed the name with little compassion, "is going to show you  _any_ leniency when he bursts through this door, Lieutenant?" he demanded. Releasing his grip, he loaded the slides with an audible  _click_. "I said 'arm yourself'."

Viktoras shook his head in disgust as the young Lieutenant fumbled to load his guns, the rest of the crew hastily following suit. Although he couldn't possibly have known it, his views on mercy were rather similar to how the last human alive regarded a salad garnish on a lamb kebab - pointless, unnecessary, and getting in the way of the fun meaty bits.

After all, he didn't get his stripes for going soft when the simulants decided to turn on their creators three million years ago. He knew full well those metallic monsters wouldn't have granted him the same mercy. Besides, it was the very reason they'd been created - so that humans could enjoy the entertaining bits of war without having to get their hands dirty.

Following the swift but bloody defeat of the simulant uprising, the human race learnt two valuable lessons. One - never build something that can rip your head off using only its little finger if you give it so much as the wrong look. Two - never build  _thousands_ of them. Otherwise, things tend to go a little tits up when said creations give two fingers to the human race and do what they hell they want.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that war has a habit of forging heroes, and Viktoras had done rather well out of the whole situation. Well, he'd died, but in 2475 that was hardly a drawback. Hard-light hologram technology had come on leaps and bounds since its invention almost 200 years previously, and having the dead walk amongst the living had long been forgotten as taboo.

Hence the inception of the  _SS Occassus_ – the 'ship of the fallen'. A combat vessel chock full of Earth's finest hologrammatic warriors, who had all proven their mettle and lost their lives in bygone wars. A ship that could power out into the depths of unchartered space, protecting the far-flung human race from the universe's ever-lurking dangers. And with the legendary Captain Viktoras at the helm, the ship would be unstoppable.

Or so everyone thought.

They hadn't even realised that a small collective of simulants had survived the war and fled Earth. They hadn't reckoned with the simulants' vengeful pursuit for revenge against the holograms that had slaughtered their kind. And they certainly hadn't considered that three million years later, they would set in motion their plan to settle the score.

The battles between the warring factions of hologram and simulant had been continuing for centuries now - their violent clashes spilling out into the paths of so many innocents in the cosmos. Yet for two of the most arrogant species in the multiverse, the time spent on their great war had merely been a drop in the ocean of eternity.

After all, immortal beings were fantastic at holding a grudge.

Which is why the simulants had been rather tickled by their latest creation.  _Ferveo Silenti:_  'the Rage of the Dead' - an intelligent virus that was undetectable by system scans. With the power to rewrite a hologram's memory programming, it could draw forth their most negative drives to unleash the resulting fury on those around them.

It was a virus that could be left to lie in wait on derelict ships scattered across the cosmos. A virus that could be lurking in any ship network - ready to slip into projections, unnoticed. When holograms sought out system upgrades on reconnaissance missions, perhaps...

Which is probably the most likely explanation as to how the crew of the  _SS Occassus_ had landed themselves in such a pickle.

The barricade had been broken; the once sturdy metal of its structure now cast back - twisted and deformed under the telekinetic will of the possessed - leaving the crew to stare back at their lost comrade.

The domineering figure now poised in the doorway echoed Murray's image, but certainly not his mind. Clothes now bled black and eyes as dead as night, he stared back at his old crewmates as though they were glass - looking through them rather than at them.

He opened his mouth to speak. But what spilled forth wasn't the once-hearty laugh that had been his trademark, but a corrupted voice with an edge of distorted feedback. Just like a simulant's.

"Gentlemen," he announced. "It's dying time."

Viktoras' face hardened as he raised his guns to his old colleague, hardly a flicker in his eye. The rest followed suit.

All was not lost. After all, the holograms had one last trick up their sleeves in the war on their dreaded enemy. And every simulant feared the day that they'd play that card.

With their finest soldiers lost to the darkness, there was only one hope left.

They needed to find Ace Rimmer.

* * *

The sound of the gunfire still ricocheted through Rimmer's mind as he jerked awake with a strangled yell - his long limbs tangled in the ocean grey of his ship-issue sleeping bag.

Panting heavily, he took a quick stock check of his surroundings. The strange, unfamiliar ship of his dreams had now dissolved to the comforting reassurance of  _Red Dwarf's_ sleeping quarters. The countless simulants that had once surrounded him - the dark eyes of their gun-barrels staring at him sightlessly - had now receded into shadow.

He swallowed, releasing the breath that had stuck fast in his throat. The dream had felt so damn  _real,_  as if it had been based more on recollection than fantasy.

Rimmer's nostrils flared in annoyance. With his sleep littered with dreams of strange worlds and unfamiliar faces, he reasoned that his lightbee must be on the blink again. But what else could you expect from living on a trash-can of a ship where the mainframe wasn't even operational? He paused. Or perhaps that latter part was more a help than a hindrance.

His eyes flitted across to the red neon glare of the alarm clock. 3am. Ohhh  _joy_. With his brain wired and chest pounding, there was no way on Io that the temptations of sleep would seduce him once more. Even if it happened to only be wearing a mini-skirt and peep-hole bra.

Sighing, Rimmer quietly gave the instruction to his light bee to furnish him with his usual blue navigation uniform and checked the top bunk. Untouched. Well, 'untouched' was probably the wrong word. The slimy caterpillar of Lister's unmade sleeping bag was littered with crumpled beer cans and poppadom shards. The only clue that it hadn't been slept in for the last few hours was the distinct lack of fresh curry stains.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. He was probably pining after Kochanski again – most likely accompanied with an alcohol bender that would make even Charlie Sheen look the picture of sobriety.

"Lights!" he called out to the empty room. The fluorescent bulbs of the sleeping quarters pulsed into action, chasing the shadows into the dank corners of the room.

A shocked breath caught in Rimmer's throat for a second time before sighing in relief. For the briefest of moments - in that strange realm between darkness and light - he swore blind he'd caught a glimpse of a strange figure in the reflection of the mirror above the sink, standing over his shoulder and watching him wordlessly. Of course, there was nothing there now.

Rimmer shuddered. Ever since they'd found themselves marooned in deep space, he'd always felt that the aching emptiness of the ship seemed to fill with voices and shadows after the lights went out at night. As if the crew had returned to haunt them - the guilt of the survivors.

He blinked unsteadily. Caffeine. He definitely needed caffeine.

* * *

Lister couldn't sleep.

The light matrix of the scanner readout bathed his face with an eerie green glow as he dealt out the cards once more, laying out the umpteenth game of Solitaire. The others had long since retired from their poker tournament, yet he was content to hold his own court - his bottled beer subjects lined up in a reverent row across the scanner table.

Things - he surmised academically - had gone to smeg.

Kris hadn't died. She'd left him. Upped roots and decided to seek her happiness elsewhere. A happy ending that didn't include him.

Yes, he'd been hurt at first. After all, he knew all-too-well that he was nothing like  _her_ Dave. Unlike his doppelganger's smooth charm and graces, his words had never managed to express the poetry his mind composed every time their eyes had crossed paths. Unfortunately in the case of this Dave Lister, the mind and the mouth had never been connected on a learned level, rendering his attempts to woo as eloquent as a Welsh farmer with a chronic catarrh problem.

But his chirpy optimism refused to let him sink, buoying him up with the promise that if he searched the cosmos long and hard enough, he'd find her. They'd be reunited once more and they'd both have a second chance at making it work. Hell, even the fortune teller back on that Blerion Trading Post had deemed it possible.

Of course, she'd also suggested that  _something else_  would befall them once their paths crossed again. But he'd tried not to think about that too much lately. It was much more enjoyable to ponder a more important conundrum – 'which would be more fun to use in his private reunion celebration with Kris: whipped cream or honey…?'

Footsteps echoed from the corridor and Lister glanced up from his cards. An all-too-familiar shadow passed by the doorway and headed to the kitchenette next door.

Brow furrowed, he trailed the figure's path, pausing in the doorway as he clocked the tall lanky form hunched over the bench, fishing through the jars for a teabag.

"Rimmer," he blinked his surprise. "You're awake."

The hologram rolled his eyes wordlessly. A true contestant for  _Mastermind_. Name: Dave Lister. Specialist subject: Stating the bleeding obvious.

"Couldn't sleep?" Lister ventured.

 _Click_. The kettle rumbled into a boil.

Lister sighed quietly. Silence didn't usually bode well. Insults meant that Rimmer didn't want to speak to him. Silence meant that Rimmer  _really_ didn't want to speak to him. Ever optimistic, he ploughed on regardless.

"Nah, me neither," he conceded, as if to answer a silent retort.

Dipping his head, Lister regarded his shoelaces mournfully. When the pair were bickering, all felt right with the universe – as if this crazy cosmos comprehended the strange yin and yang of their relationship. But the incident on the Trading Post had moved the goalposts - his secret wedging an unbearable awkwardness between them.

He wanted more than anything to put an end to it; but gut instinct just knew that revealing the truth could make things a thousand times worse. Not only could it put them all at risk of exposure to the more hostile races of this universe, he knew full well how the hologram would react. Rimmer wouldn't see his secrecy as protective. All he'd see is a liar.

"Hey," he prodded verbally, olive branch extended. "Any chance I could get a black coffee?"

After a thoughtful pause, Rimmer's shoulders sagged with a groan, sounding his relent. "To counteract the effect of all that beer, I presume?" he sniffed, spooning in a heap of granules into a second mug.

Lister grinned but had the good grace to keep it to himself. "Something like that, yeah."

Meandering across to join him at the bench, Lister watched wordlessly as the hot water was poured out in the hologram's usual methodical fashion – the regimental inch gap to the brim – before adding milk to his own.

But then the familiar took a turn for the downright confusing when Rimmer reached for the pot of honey, carefully gathering a golden sticky mound onto a teaspoon.

"What're you doin?" Lister snorted, thoroughly bemused. Arnold J. Rimmer had always been a strictly 'milk, no sugar' man when it came to tea, and certainly not because he was 'already sweet enough'. After all, the idiom simply didn't fit with him. A bitter man with bitter tastes.

Rimmer huffed. "I'm dabbling in the art of alchemy," he replied flatly, although the sarcasm bubbled under the still surface. He dipped the now-golden spoon into the tea. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"No," Lister insisted, shrugging off the dig. "The honey, man. You never put honey in your tea." He folded his arms, tucking his fingers into the warmth of his armpits against the cold. The ship's metallic walls could really resonate the chill some nights. "You're always on my case when I put more than three sugars in  _mine_."

"Lister don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, stirring the honeyed spoon through the milky brown until it melted into its depths. "I've always - "

He trailed off, the swirling pattern slowing thoughtfully as a flash whited out his mind's eye. For just that moment, he could picture – no,  _remember_  – standing in the training hall back on Blerios 5, savouring the taste of honeyed spiced tea on his tongue…

The spoon clattered on the worktop. He swallowed.

"Rimmer?" ventured a voice beside him. "You okay?"

Desperate, his mind scrabbled for the lost threads of the image, but they skittered away into the darkness once more before he'd seized a chance to reclaim them.

In the awkward silence that followed, Rimmer unknowingly wetted his lips. "I think I need to speak with Kryten," he managed eventually.

"Okay," Lister replied carefully, his voice low and steady as not to disturb the ripples of thought. Without deflecting his open stare, he nodded in a loose gesture towards the doorway. "We can check out the cleaning cupboard on C-Deck. Probably our best bet on finding him."

Blinking unsteadily, Rimmer nodded his consent – no-one in the driving seat.

As the pair headed towards the Xpress Lift, Rimmer gave up the chase. He resigned himself to the premise that the memory would probably wiggle its way back out of the darkness eventually. Most likely at a rather inopportune moment during one of his frequent revision sessions. Or perhaps during a mental re-visitation of his rather  _in_ frequent sexual conquests.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a memory trying to get  _out_ of the dark, hidden recesses of his mind.

It was a previously unnoticed and highly dangerous virus trying to get  _in_.


	3. Ghosts from the past

Kryten loved feeling needed.

It was the warm rush in his CPU that he secretly adored. How the whiz of compliance buzzed through every electron in his mechanical body when he was asked for assistance. It made him feel valued and accepted - a mechanoid living amongst the last precious remnants of humanity.

On the other hand, Kryten hated breaking bad news. He was truly awful at it. The mech knew that it had to involve some degree of fabrication in order to help the recipient deal with the blow. Yet despite years of practice at honing his dishonesty, he knew he still hadn’t quite got the hang of it. His lies were about as convincing as Paul Daniels’ toupee.

Hovering in the doorway to the Drive Room, Kryten watched as the lone man sat on watch by the scanner scope, booted feet slobbily slung on the dashboard. An oft-watched episode of Mugs Murphy played silently on the neighbouring screen as he munched happily from a foil dish, suggesting that his dedication to duty was less than diligent.

“Mr Lister, sir?” Kryten prodded verbally.

The snakes of hair whipped to one side as the man quickly turned to glance back over his shoulder, shooting the mechanoid a cheeky grin that warmed the cockles of his re-hydration unit. “Caught with me hand in the jar, eh Krytie?” Lister chirped playfully, before turning back to both the screen and his lunch. “Just thought I’d take a break.”

Kryten fidgeted awkwardly as he glanced at the flickering glare of the scanner scope. It hadn’t escaped his attention how he would often slip away from the daily system checks (a sad necessity with Holly still offline) to scope out the local area for lone ships and SOS signals. Still in search for her.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” he shifted with the grating of gears. “But I was looking for Mr Rimmer.”

Shovelling in another mouthful of vindaloo, Lister gestured with the fork. “He smegged off down the library declaring everything to be ‘tickety-boo’,” he explained between chews. “Probably to look up ‘denial’ in the dictionary.” He swivelled back in the chair to face him. “Why? What was the beef with the holo-scan, Krytes?”

Kryten squirmed under the questioning stare. “Lie mode,” he muttered, less than subtly. “Why, everything was hunky-dory, sir!” he announced in a tone far too chipper for the panic that flickered behind computer-blue eyes. “Absolutely peachy. In fact,” he chuckled awkwardly, “I’d just been remarking to Bob how smoothly the whole process had gone. Huge relief all round.”

The room fell silent.

“No offence, Kryten. But that’s utter baloney, isn’t it?”

Kryten winced visibly.

“Thought so.”

“Lie mode cancel,” he mumbled, his hands twitching as if they belonged to a marionette. “I’m sorry, sir. The results aren’t peachy at all. In fact, they’re quite the opposite.”

The mechanoid was treated to a raised eyebrow. “Carroty?”

Ignoring - or perhaps not registering - the joke, Kryten continued. “The scan results revealed the beginnings of corruption and data loss in Mr Rimmer’s memory files,” he explained gravely.

Lister blinked in surprise, all humour lost. “You what?”

The mechanoid swore blind that the awkward grating of his CPU as it processed the dismay before him was more than audible. He drummed his cubed fingers on his chest plate, as if to mask the sound. “By all accounts, the holo-virus - ”

“ _Holo-virus?_ ” Lister echoed, incredulous. “Kryten, for the love of god don’t tell me he’s about to crack out the gingham again.”

“Sir,” Kryten cut in quickly, “I can only assume it’s a holo-virus. There’s no evidence of organic system failure whatsoever,” he explained. “Virus scans are coming out clean, but it bears many of the hallmarks of the Armageddon Virus that the simulants inflicted on us years ago.”

An involuntary shudder wormed its way down Lister’s spine. He could remember, all too well, how the simulants had left them with a parting gift so dangerous that it had locked out their ship navigation and almost shut Kryten down permanently.

“Smeg - ” he hissed. The laden fork sunk, unawares, to the foil tray as Lister took this in. After a moment’s thought, he glanced up once more. “Can we fix it?”

“Last time, we simply had to perform a complete system restore,” Kryten recalled. “But Mr Rimmer was operating on a soft-light, ship-powered projection back then. Now he’s hard-light and powered remotely, I’m not sure how we would - ”

Lister’s brow furrowed as the mechanoid tailed off distracted, his neon blue eyes now studying something intently over his shoulder. Intrigued, he swivelled back to face the console, his gaze drawn to the small, pulsing blue light on the scanner scope as it zipped towards them at an impossible speed.

“What the smeg is that?” he muttered, his vindaloo now discarded on the console. “A ship?”

Kryten nodded vaguely as he continued to watch it. “It certainly looks that way, sir.” His eyes flitted momentarily to the comm screen’s readout. “But curiously enough, it’s not registering on any scale -- mass, velocity or molecular structure. All the readings are zero.”

Lister shook his head. “But that’s ridiculous,” he dismissed. “How could there be a ship with no - ”

He tailed off thoughtfully, gerbil cheeks slowly sinking in realisation. Wheeling back the chair, he leapt up and sprinted towards the Xpress Lift as fast as a full belly of curry would allow.

******

“Look, it’s really not that difficult,” Rimmer snapped with characteristic impatience. “I asked you for _Theories on Porous Circuits_ and you bring me _Porous Circuit Theory_.” Casting the unwanted book onto the desk beside him, he turned back to the skutter with a reproachful scowl. “Now go and fetch me the right edition so I can get on with my studies!”

Not noticing the rude gesture that Bob shot him with two of his metal claws, Rimmer turned back to his hand-written notes. He knew his bad mood was borne from the events of the night before. But surely he was perfectly justified to feel flustered that Lister had caught him in such a moment of weakness? The last thing he wanted, or indeed needed, from that dung-heap of a man was pity.

He absently gnawed his worry into the tip of his pen. The scan had been completed that morning, with Kryten reassuring him repeatedly that all would be peachy and the results with him as soon as possible. And his fears had indeed been sated. For an hour or so anyway.

But the snarky little voice that often liked to pipe up in moments of panic needled at him relentlessly, whispering reminders of the symptoms that had been plaguing him - the strange dreams and the irritating forgetfulness. All of the revision he’d completed that week seemed to have hitched a cab ride to the dark corners of his mind, where the know-how of long multiplication and the process of mitosis had long gone to wither and die many years before.

A familiar mechanical whistle snared his attention and he quickly set his hard face once more on Bob’s approach. _Porous Circuit Theory_ was carefully balanced in the skutter’s clutch.

“Finally!” Rimmer cried, exasperated. “Now perhaps we can push on with this next subject?”

Yet before he even had the chance to reach out for the book, a blinding blue flash erupted in the space before them and he quickly shielded his eyes against the force of the glare. Once his eyes had adjusted to the strange glow, he lowered his hand to make out a swirl of blue lights as they danced enticingly.

“What the smeg is that?” he breathed, standing slowly as if not to disturb their performance.

With a strange mix of fear and surrender, he found his boots walking towards it of their own accord, as if he were a moth drawn to the flame. Bob looked on helplessly, buzzing his wordless warning through pulsing claws.

“Beautiful,” Rimmer murmured, although he wasn’t sure who to.

The countless illuminations surrounded him like fireflies, singing to him in a thousand voices. Its welcoming warmth and eerie light felt all-encompassing in their brilliance.

Only vaguely aware of what was happening, he turned back to the call of his name - Lister’s look of shock framed in the doorway before he blipped out of existence.

******

Rimmer hated that bewildering sensation of being regenerated. The feeling was strangely akin to that horrible turn in your stomach as you took a steep dip on a rollercoaster. Frightening and exhilarating all in one simulated breath.

“What the - ?” he managed.

The room was disconcertingly familiar - the immaculate cream walls and red detail décor tugging at the loose threads of a half-buried memory. Yet the silken voice that carried on the air behind him helped to slot everything into place, as if it were the lubricant his mind had needed.

“Greetings, Mr Rimmer.”

Swivelling back to the doorway, he steadied himself as his knees threatened to give way; his insides feeling as though they’d been ripped out like a filleted fish. The woman’s red bouffant hair and petite curves were unmistakable.

“Nirvanah!” he squeaked, his voice two octaves higher than usual. He winced visibly at the sound, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to gain some semblance of control. “What are you doing here? I mean, how are you doing here? I mean, how are you?”

The Commander blinked twice at his verbal diarrhoea. “Fine, thank-you,” she replied carefully. After a pause as painful as dental surgery - as though Rimmer had been genuinely pulling teeth with his conversation - Nirvanah nodded politely. “Long time no see,” she offered, her expression unreadable.

An awkward chuckle spluttered and died on Rimmer’s lips, thinking it best not to explain that his imagination had conjured her presence only the previous evening. As non-plussed by the situation as Nirvanah seemed, he was finding it a tad tricky to relax in the presence of a woman he’d previously ‘Geronimo’d’.

Simulated heart thumping hard in his chest, he searched her face for some flicker of recognition at what had passed between them all those years ago. But the gaze she returned was steadfast and unwavering, as if nothing was registering behind her blue eyes.

“So,” he faltered, desperately scrabbling for a safety hook in the conversation before finding a question that was both generic and pathetic in equal measure. “Been busy?”

Nirvanah flashed him a smile that proffered reassurance and pity all in one glance. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there isn’t really time for small talk,” she explained, her voice oddly clipped. “Your presence is required on the bridge - the Captain needs to speak with you urgently.”

At Rimmer’s perplexed expression, she sighed reluctantly. “We’re hoping that you might share some information on someone,” she whispered, as if she was more than aware that their conversation was being observed. “That is, if you know him?”

******

" _Know him?_ ” Rimmer spat. “He's a trigger-happy, arrogant git with an insatiable death wish and probably more in love with himself than the countless women he claims to have shagged his way through over the years."

Captain Platini blinked twice, glancing left then right to take in the equally stunned stares of astonishment from both Navarro and Pushkin. He rubbed a thoughtful finger under his eye, as if the venomous bile this man was spilling forth had somehow become projectile.

"So I take it you _do_ know who Ace Rimmer is, then?" he confirmed slowly, regarding the vulture-like scowl before him.

"Yes, sir. I do know who Ace-smegging-Rimmer is," came the sighed reply. "And if I ever cross paths with him again it would be three million years too soon."

An awkward silence descended on the room. Platini offered a cough to match it.

"Actually, Mr Rimmer,” the Captain ventured, trailing meekly behind the wake of the quiet, “as we are in urgent need of his assistance, we were rather hoping that you'd be able to ascertain his whereabouts for us."

“With respect, sir, I’m not his smegging PA,” Rimmer folded his arms, eyebrow raised. “Just because he’s an alternative version of me, doesn’t mean I keep a carefully detailed diary of his movements and operations. I’m sure that even the _legendary_ Ace,” the word sprawled forth shamelessly, dripping with sarcasm, “is capable enough of keeping to his own agenda of smug gittery and poncing about.”

Stifling a reproachful frown, Platini pushed on. “The last sighting of him in this sector was over 50 years ago,” he explained. “Beyond intermittent accounts from intergalactic trading stations we’ve made contact with, we have nothing else to go on in order to locate him.”

"The man has an ego the size of a planet,” Rimmer scoffed. “I'm surprised he hasn't clogged up your long-range scanner scope by now."

Platini massaged his temples as if to instil some semblance of patience. "Mr Rimmer, I must admit that I'm having trouble understanding your venom for this man. After all, as you said yourself - you are the same person." He turned to Commander Pushkin who was sat to his right. "Natalina, I believe you've been doing some background reading on this Ace character?"

"Indeed, Captain," Pushkin murmured in her guttural Russian accent before consulting her notes. "A host of stories from GELFs across the cosmos, translated from both oral traditions and written texts, tell of an immortal man who is capable of single-handedly defeating the simulant race." She regarded Rimmer down her long, thin nose. "I believe he has all the necessary requirements for being classed as a textbook hero, yes?"

The edge of Rimmer's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a thin smile. A hallucination it may have been, but he couldn't help but savour how he'd wiped the smug look off another Russian know-it-all's face. He could still hear the satisfying blare of the horn as he shoved her into the path of an oncoming Jeep.

"Textbook," he echoed sarcastically under his breath.

“Indeed,” Navarro nodded, making up for his lack of enthusiasm with a suave flick of the fringe from his eyes. “We couldn’t hope for a better candidate for the job.”

“But why do you want to find him so badly anyway?” Rimmer ventured, his lofty tone balancing precariously on the precipice of genuine interest. “Perhaps a helpless cat stuck up a tree? Or a dithery old lady that needs helping across the road?”

His mockery was met with a derisive eyebrow. “I’m afraid that’s classified information, Mr Rimmer,” Platini sniffed cockily. “I’m not at liberty to divulge the detail of his mission.”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared knowingly. “ _Right_ ,” he drawled, the acknowledgement slipping out slow and considered. Judging by this Captain’s similarly flamboyant blonde locks, he wouldn’t be overly shocked if Platini were secretly longing for some form of re-match of ‘Spot the Submarine’ with the absent Commander.

“Besides,” Platini smiled, less-than-genuinely, as he pressed a buzzer on the intercom beside him, “I thought you weren’t taking notes on his whereabouts?”

Rimmer bit back a scowl as the door hissed open behind him. Nirvanah stepped through the doorway to flick the trademark Holoship salute.

The Captain gestured warmly to the door. “Please,” he nodded, “feel free to rest for the night and make use of the -” he suppressed a knowing grin as he cast his attention to Commander Crane for the briefest of moments before returning to Rimmer, “ - _facilities_.”

Clocking Nirvanah’s open gaze, Rimmer’s eyes immediately darted to the floor in embarrassment before drawing back to the trio once more. With his cheeks flushing red, he could offer nothing in return but a deliberate clear of the throat and his best salute before trailing after her like a lost puppy.

As the door closed behind them, Platini quickly tapped in some commands to the holo-screen set into the table. “Stocky? Did you secure Mr Rimmer’s light bee ident as instructed?”

The screen hummed into life. “ _Affirmative_ ,” it buzzed, voice monotone.

Releasing a pent-up sigh, Platini glanced over his shoulder to Navarro. “Hail the SS Occassus,” he ordered.

With a solemn nod, Navarro set to work. Soon enough, the silence of the room was broken by an all-too-familiar voice, monosyllabic yet intimidating with its presence.

“ _You better have good news for me, Platini,_ ” it said simply.

The Captain jutted forth his jaw, as if to steady his nerves. “Of course, Viktoras,” he confirmed, glancing down to the readout. “Stocky’s established Mr Rimmer’s light bee ident as 276-589-KZ.”

Silence descended upon the room once more, presumably as the vast system of electronic records on the Occassus were pressed into swift conscription. Eventually the voice returned, its tone now etched with a distinct edge of satisfaction.

“ _Incarnation estimate: 12,762. Ten year's service. Jackpot_.”

Platini couldn’t suppress the wolf-like grin that inched its way across his face as he regarded the door once more.

“I think we’ve got him,” he confirmed with a slow nod, a chuckle not far behind it.


	4. Rimmer's Return: part one

The soft pipe music drifted lazily from the speakers of the elevator, nonchalantly unaware of the awkward air that it was competing with. Four tight walls could barely contain the volume of unspoken words between them.

Whilst Nirvanah’s petite form appeared to remain the very picture of silent stillness, Rimmer’s body didn’t seem to want to cooperate at all. His fingers buzzed - drumming out their nervous energy against his thigh, painfully aware that his right leg was desperate to bow to habit and jiggle impatiently.

Just as they’d always been, his mind and body remained at odds with one another. He just _knew_ from her sideways piteous glances that she didn’t return his affections. But something instinctive, almost engrained deep within, could sense the thick heat hanging potent in the air between them - as if a single spark could send the pair up in flames.

The metallic floor-panelling creaked under Rimmer’s boots as he rocked back and forth on his heels. The sapphire sparkle of Nirvanah’s eyes flitted across the walls, searching for a topic of conversation. She sucked in her lips before releasing them into a pout once more.

“We could - ?”

“Yes?”

Their words tripped and fell over one another, self-conscious yet eager in taking their first, shaky steps. Eyes locked together for the briefest of moments - charged and challenging - before Nirvanah looked away. Rimmer cursed inwardly as she drew back, annoyed with his impatience.

With a polite cough, Nirvanah gestured vaguely. “We could visit the Botanical Gardens, perhaps?” she offered. “We have a bloom of Venetian Orchid that’s most rare.”

A simple blink belied the blow. “Oh.”

Nirvanah seemed to sense his disappointment, fumbling for an alternative. “Or the Observation Deck? We’re currently researching new theories on faster-than-light travel.” She nodded a little too enthusiastically.

Rimmer’s heart sank as his eyes searched hers. The awkward pity seemed to radiate through her earnest gaze, dark lashes batting back his attempts to reach out to her. _Enough_ , he told himself. She’d clearly made her decision.

“Sure,” he replied emptily. Drifting back to rest against the lift wall, he held the floor with a mournful, sightless stare. “Whatever you feel is best.”

Nirvanah’s chest began to heave quicker, unnoticed, nervous fingers fumbling to check her immaculate coiffure. And then, like a dam giving way to the flood, she caved into his unspoken questions.

“I got your note,” she blurted.

Hazel eyes darted up nervously. This time, Rimmer kept himself perfectly still - as if not to disturb the ripples of her thought. “Right,” he said carefully.

Nirvanah chewed on her lip. No turning back now. “What you told me in that letter,” she began, more than a little flustered. “That you - ” she stopped, eying the surveillance camera warily before leaning forward to whisper the remainder of her question in his ear.

Rimmer’s eyes sank closed at her hushed words, his breath seeming to catch on the painfully jagged edges of the memory. Feeling the heat of his sigh against her cheek, Nirvanah drew back slightly; just enough to snare his attention with her gaze.

“Do you still mean it?" Her words were barely a whisper.

 _God_ , he could smell her perfume now. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up wafting on their enticing waves - buoyed up like some bloody cartoon character. Either that, or be forced to hide a tent setting up camp in his trousers.

Rimmer swallowed nervously, his tongue unknowingly wetting his lips. And with a rush of courage he’d never known before, he found himself throwing himself head-first in at the deep end. “Yes.”

A rush of emotions - raw and inexperienced - flooded through Nirvanah’s face; a quiver of unshed tears that refused to flow under the warmth of an incurable grin. A rush that Rimmer felt just as strongly.

In the bright, harsh light of the elevator, everything felt naked and exposed. A powerful moment that uncovered the mutual sense of just how overwhelmed, elated and _afraid_ of this new step into the unknown they both were. A silent vow that if they were to succumb to the flames, they’d burn together.

Nirvanah blinked quickly, clearing her throat with theatrical flair as her eyes returned fleetingly to the security camera. She recovered swiftly, flicking him an eyebrow like a mischievous imp. “Then if you're free, Mr Rimmer,” she purred meaningfully. “Perhaps you'd like to retire to my quarters and have sex for a few hours?”

The same question posed but with completely different connotations. Years before, the offer had been polite, courteous and a little starched. Right now, the premise carried the pledge of so much more.

Nirvanah’s red-stained lips parted slightly; her mouth hovering millimetres from his in an infuriating yet highly alluring non-kiss. It was an act that reeled him in and then teasingly denied him in one, fluid movement. Her simulated breath felt hot against the tip of his nose.

An idiotic grin crept across Rimmer’s face as she pulled away. She may have shaved off a good few IQ points from him in that one charged, sexual moment, but sometimes the simplest answers were the best.

“Yes,” he echoed.

******

“Poor Mr Rimmer.” Kryten shook his head solemnly. “I fear he may be in great danger.”

“Are you crazy?” The Cat demanded. “A cushy number back on that ship, getting laid three times a day?” The feline sulked into the creaking discomfort that was the pilot seat. “It’s a family tub of banana yoghurt away from my idea of a good time.”

The trio sat stationed in their usual positions in  _Starbug’s_ cockpit, powering through the depths of space in hot pursuit of the  _SS Enlightenment_ . Only the navigation station remained conspicuously un-manned. 

“But Mr Rimmer’s virus, sir,” the mechanoid implored. “If it’s not seen to pronto, he risks further corruption of his memory files.”

Lister scowled at the empty seat before wheeling his chair back round to face the dashboard readout. “If he doesn’t bother to get in touch with us pronto, he risks extensive corruption of his groinal files.”

“So you say those hologram dudes just took him?” The Cat flashed him a sideways glance before returning his concentration to his piloting once more. “Didn’t even say howdy or leave a note?”

Lister shook his head. “Didn’t even stop in for tea.” He gripped the metal curve of the steering column a little too tightly. “Dunno why I was expecting anything different. They’re stuck-up, arrogant smeggers,” he observed. “They’re the sort that would give you a snooty look if you used the wrong fork for the fish course, or used the butter knife to pick your teeth after the lamb.”

The Cat shrugged loosely, the sequins on his regimental-styled shoulder pads winking in the neon lights of the cockpit. “So if these dudes are so great, why can’t  _they_ fix Goalpost Head?”

Lister blinked his surprise. He hadn’t considered that could have been the reason why they’d taken Rimmer without pomp or ceremony. “What do you reckon, Krytie?” he asked, glancing back to face the mechanoid. “You reckon they’ve got the smart-arse technology to sort him out?”

Kryten cocked his head to one side in agreement, the jerky gesture rather reminiscent of a marionette. “I suppose it’s quite possible, sir,” he granted. “After all, the  _Enlightenment_ is a research ship. It’s most likely the best resource for hologram anti-viral software.”

The Cat’s instinctive reflexes reacted seamlessly as he navigated the  _‘Bug_ through a tight maze of asteroids that eventually gave way to the depths of open space once more. The Plexi-glass filled with the purple swirl of a distant galaxy, its glow stretching to the vast emptiness that sprawled before them.

“Argh, what’s the use?” The Cat protested with a yowl that echoed his feline predecessors. “Butterpat Head here reckons their ship can travel at half the speed of light. This heap of junk would struggle to keep up with a milk float with a gearbox problem.”

Lister sighed his relent. “I say we leave them to it.” He waved dismissively at the empty sea of stars that winked back at them. “Eventually they’ll get bored of him and bring him back.”

Suddenly the view screen erupted in a fierce burst of light, its energy resonating far enough to send tremors resonating through the  _’Bug_ . The edges of the glare faded gradually to reveal the outline of another craft materialising before them.

“Man, that was fast!” the Cat nodded, lips pursed impressed. “I’ve gotta admit, when it comes to boring people, the guy’s a pro.”

Lister’s dark eyes flitted across the ship’s semi-familiar form as it continued to pulse unsteadily, its edges still dancing with blue bolts of electricity. “It’s not the  _Englightenment_ ,” he mused distantly. A spark of realisation set off the beginnings of a grin that threatened to conquer his face. “But I’ll bet you one free guitar session that it’s a familiar face.”

Kryten’s plastic features contorted in barely concealed disdain. Another pained rendition of  _To Ganymede and Titan_ was bound to damage his audio receptors beyond repair. “Are you sure, sir?” he ventured.

Booting up the waiting comms message from the stricken craft, the Scouser’s head rested back smugly against the co-pilot seat as the cockpit suddenly filled with the nasal tones of a very familiar voice.

“Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger!”

Lister closed the link once more. “Fairly sure.” He turned back to the mechanoid, eyebrow raised. “I’m happy to take requests, by the way.”

******

Rimmer had worked his way through an impressive vocabulary of cursing before the cockpit door slid open behind him. He quickly flicked off the comms link that he ’d accidentally booted in his panic to regain control of the squealing craft.

“What the hell is going on in here?!”

Swivelling back to the doorway, he watched as the woman before him swept back fiery locks from her face in disbelief to survey the chaos within.

“Evening!” he chirped in reply. 

The woman growled audibly as she leapt into the co-pilot chair and began flicking a line of switches to try and soothe the frazzled engines. She could tell immediately from the readouts what the rookie mistake had been.

“Are you crazy?” she cried. “I’ve told you thousands of times, _don’t_ attempt a jump to a neighbouring dimension!”

Rimmer snorted. “No you haven’t!” he scoffed. “Of over 10,000 predecessors, you’ve probably told  _each_ of us  _once_ . It’s probably just slipped your CPU.” Another flash of sparks erupted from the dashboard, casting forth a flurry of fingers across buttons and indistinct cursing against the wailing sirens. “You know, for a mainframe of over three million years, I think you’re finally beginning to show your age.”

The woman said nothing, instead choosing the scholastic simplicity of sticking out her tongue in reply, which Rimmer playfully returned.

******

Like the legend that is Ace Rimmer, there has always been a computer on the  _Wildfire_ . Hundreds of thousands of years of destiny had remained unchanged. Until now.

During the last two years alone, the long-fabled partnership had endured far more than previous incarnations had experienced in a lifetime. After a first few newbie adventures - the usual fare of rescuing damsels and notching up some bedpost experience - Rimmer’s first major challenge had been to help to defend Filitus 12 from the threat of Pizzak and his simulant invasion.

Unfortunately, he’d cocked it up rather spectacularly.

Following the encounter,  _Wildfire_ had been left all but destroyed in its emergency crash-landing onto the planetoid’s surface, the computer’s mainframe was frazzled to within an inch of her life, and Rimmer had managed to sustain a rather nasty bruise to his upper arm.

But that was rather an unfair summary. The balls-up hadn’t been quite as all-encompassing as previously documented. The end result had been achieved eventually; the simulants sent packing with their tails between their legs, thanks to Rimmer’s uncanny ability to secure the Lucky Bastard Perfect Timing Award year after year.

Indeed, the Filitians had been so grateful for their help that they vowed to repay them in whatever way they could. Helpful, then, that they were renowned across the galaxy for their technological advances.

_Wildfire_ had been rebuilt entirely - expanded, advanced and enhanced. The ship had been reborn - the phoenix from the flames.

Rimmer had had his boo-boo kissed by a rather pretty Filitian GELF. In fact, she’d been so keen to make sure he was fully recovered that she’d taken him back to her private quarters, just to be sure.

The computer had been brought back from the brink - her circuitry re-wired, her CPU restored and various language upgrades installed. Including Welsh.

But the Filitian’s hadn’t stopped there. Taking inspiration from the latest hard-light hologram technology, they’d created the computer a physical form for the first time in her existence. Her appearance had been based on an amalgamation of personality reflections and physical features that were key to continued working success with Ace Rimmer. After all, he was much more likely to pay attention to her important nagging if she had the D-cups to match.

She’d christened herself ‘Rose’. She liked it. It was a pretty name. 

But as Rimmer would tease her endlessly for, she was far from the blushing English flower that the name would imply.

******

“I thought we agreed this morning, you idiot?” she scolded under the assault of a fresh array of sparks. “In order to get her home, we need to head out to Dimension 362 before we could loop back to 23101986A?”

Rimmer sighed raggedly. “I thought I could get her home quicker.”

“Right,” the computer nodded with a knowing eyebrow. “All the _quicker_ for you to get into her - ”

The cockpit door yawned open to reveal the latest of a long line of Ace’s rescuees, the pretty woman ducking her head through the low doorway to survey the situation. The pair quickly swivelled back to face her, features plastered with winning grins as genuine as a Chinese Rolex against the continuing chaos behind them. 

Rimmer watched as wary eyes tracked over the dashboard readouts before the woman spooned back caramel locks behind her ear. “Is everything alright in here?” she ventured. The voice was as soft and petite as her frame, but with a definite polished edge.

“Course it is, sugar plum,” Rimmer smoothed over in the suave tone that quickly lurched to hijack his voice. “Everything’s - ” he bit back his words, a ‘tickety-boo’ only millimetres from escape, “ - running as smooth as a baby’s bottom now.” He cringed inwardly. Sweet lord, he hated those stupid idioms. “Just a slight hiccup back there. Small technical hitch.”

The woman flitted questioning blue eyes across to Rose. The computer said nothing in return, instead nodding her loose agreement with the grin still fixed in place, despite the flashing red lights she could see pulsing in her peripheral vision.

Content, the woman flashed her once-famous Pinball Smile. “Not long now,” she muttered in excitement before disappearing behind the sliding door.

Both grins melted instantly as Rose swivelled back to face him. “Technical hitch?” came the echo, tinted with barely-concealed sarcasm. She snorted dismissively. “The only  _technical hitch_ around here is the fact your lightbee clearly can’t cope with powering both your brain and your - ”

“Yes, fine. Thank you,” Rimmer cut in tightly. He sat up straighter at the controls, trying to reign back a sense of dignity and professionalism. “Besides, that’s complete and utter slander, and you know it.”

A roll of the eyes was more than called for but the computer managed to keep it to a minimum. Turning back to the wailing controls, Rose ran slender, soothing fingers across the dashboard. “Shhh baby, you’re okay.” Grasping the co-pilot steering column with a deliberate visual double-entendre, she pulled it towards her in some semblance of control. “Come on,” she tempered. “Come to mama, that’s it.”

Rimmer’s shoulders shuddered as a teenage snigger spluttered forth unashamedly. Turning to share his amusement, his lecherous leer sagged under the weight of the Rose’s challenging eyebrow.

“You’re mean.”

“I know.”

A small white light pulsed for attention amongst the vast array of warnings that flickered across the dashboard, its buzzing growing in persistence.

“Phone’s ringing,” Rose sighed, nodding to the comms panel. “If they’re trying to sell us a new energy supplier, tell them I’m in the bath.”

Rimmer offered a roll of the eyes of his own, flicking the switch to open the communication channel. “You’ve reached Rimmer’s Rescue Services,” he announced, the suave tones of his ‘Ace’ voice in full swing. “Please leave a message after the tone detailing your emergency, coordinate location, and details of how you’d like me to  _service_ you, post-rescue.”

He flashed a cheeky smirk in response to Rose’s despairing face-palm. It was far too easy to wind the ancient computer up sometimes.

“Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

Rimmer’s face sagged immediately, the joke suddenly not so funny anymore. He licked away dry lips.

“Lister?” he managed, disbelieving, all traces of his ‘Ace’ voice gone.

A strange static sounded on the line as the Scouser replied with his squeaky chuckle. “Rimmer, I thought it was you, man,” he chided. “What did you do? Hit the wrong switch and land back here again?”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared in instinctive annoyance, but another concern prevented him from voicing it. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

The gerbil-faced smirk was audible even at this distance. “Fair enough,” Lister relented. “We’ll swing by and say howdy, yeah? I’ll get Kryten to crack out the bourbon biscuits.”

The line disconnected leaving the pair to sit in solemn silence.

“Ah.” Rimmer glanced back to the cockpit door before turning back to face Rose. She shared his look of embarrassment. “This - uh. This is going to be a tad awkward, isn’t it?”


	5. Cosmic Castaway

In the dark eeriness of Wildfire’s starboard corridor, the air lock door almost sounded as if it were alive; sounding tell-tale bass thumps and hisses to herald the impending arrivals. Stood before it in marked silence, the pair waited patiently for the de-pressurisation to complete.

Well, _one_ of the pair was waiting patiently. The other clearly had a ferret up his leg judging by his persistent, nervous jiggling.

“Will you relax?” Rose hushed before turning back to the door. “You look like a man about to greet the in-laws.”

Rimmer rapped the steel-cap of his right boot twice against the metal-grated floor in aggravation, as if to flush out the intruder once and for all. Most of his butterflies seem to have bred and mutated from his nervousness of how Lister would now see him after all this time - but it wasn’t a thought he was about to voice to the computer.

Instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly,” he parried back. “Just a tad concerned that I’ve neglected to tell Lister something I’m fairly sure he’s going to notice as soon as he steps a madras-sweating boot on board.”

Smirking at his edginess, Rose nodded back to the mid-section in indication. “Not forgetting that you haven’t told _her_ that you're - ”

“Yes, thank you,” Rimmer cut in tightly. “You know, funnily enough that’s really not helping.” He drummed nervous thin fingers against his thigh. “In fact, I’m betting that the odds on either him or Kris swinging for me as soon as they find out are really - _hi!_ "

Rimmer’s path of conversation took a sharp veer to the left and climbed three octaves as the air lock de-pressurised with a final hiss; the door swinging open to reveal the trio he honestly thought he’d never see again.

It was clear that the others had similar qualms; their greetings all muddled together into a sea of self-conscious, babbling small-talk. Exchanges of polite, banal enquiries of general health all tripped over one another in an awkward attempt at breaking the ice in this, quite frankly, surreal situation.

“Hi!”

“Hey!”

“Long time no see!”

“Yeah! How are you doin’?”

“Yes, yes. Fine. You?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Yeah, good, bud. Good.”

“Very well. Thank you, sir.”

And then, just as swiftly, the conversation died - an embarrassed silence descending upon the group as they all nodded distantly. There was a cough from the Cat’s direction.

Glancing meaningfully over Rimmer’s shoulder, Lister gave an uncomprehending chuckle. “Are you gonna show us round then?” he prompted.

“You know what?” The hologram rubbed his hands together a little too briskly. “The ship’s a huge mess at the moment following the rebuild. So I thought it might be nicer to just stay here in the corridor and - oof!” A subtle yet hard elbow to the ribs forced a change of tack.

“Kidding!” he reassured nervously to the bemused glances of the group. “Step right through. Let’s get the kettle on, shall we? Kryten can crack open those delightful-looking bourbons.”

Waving the trio past with a fixed grin in place, he leant back to hiss to Rose through gritted teeth.

“Lock the munitions cupboard.”

The Dwarfers meandered slowly through the ship like a trio of tourists, sounding a harmony of impressed noises as their necks craned and swivelled to take in the sights of the extensive rebuild. Usually finding a dragging pace an irritant, Rimmer was secretly grateful for any delay to the inevitable.

As they approached the mid-section, his Adam’s apple did a rather impressive swan dive to the pit of his stomach. “So, is there anything I can get you?” he managed, his voice flying slightly off-key given its conspicuous absence. “Tea? Coffee?”

Not noticing the sudden stop in his tracks, the group bundled into the back of Lister’s jacket leather. Wilma’s painted image continued to smile back at them innocently, blissfully unaware of their collective shock as they stared openly over his shoulders. Lister stood just as motionless in the doorway - a rabbit trapped in headlights.

Rimmer coughed awkwardly. “Relationship counsellor?” he muttered under his breath.

At the same moment Kochanski’s gaze lifted to meet his, her copy of Pride and Prejudice sank, unawares, to the table. Her mouth fell open, the book similarly abandoned as she scraped back her chair to stand.

“Dave?” she managed.

Yet Lister couldn’t form a reply; his tongue finally rendered speechless after a lifetime of chirpy banter. He’d pictured this moment countless times over the years - the scene before him playing out just as surreal and dream-like as his months of musing.

The silence of the room was deafening. Rimmer dismissed it with a wag of the finger.

“Tea,” he surmised upon its departure. “Definitely time for tea.”

******

It was the longest he’d ever spent putting the kettle on. Galaxies formed and died in the time he took to fill it up with water. Intergalactic empires rose and fell in the moments waiting for him to pop it on the tiny stove and click on the gas.

He didn’t need to look back over his shoulder. The eerily light tread of her step gave it away as she approached, resting her chin on his shoulder.

The buzzing hum of Rose’s sigh resonated up his neck. “You can’t hide in here forever, you know,” she chided gently.

“I can _try_ ,” Rimmer sang back, his voice sarcastically melodic. He heaved a sigh of his own, the inevitable question on the tip of his tongue. “Did he ask why she did it?”

The computer nodded silently.

“And?”

She leant back against the tiny counter top, tilting her head thoughtfully until red bangs tumbled across her eyes. “She threw him the ‘I needed time to think’ line.”

Rimmer hissed through his teeth. “Ouch.”

Rose flicked an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Whether Lister had actually bought the excuse was a different matter. “Come on,” she encouraged, her voice low. “You’ve got to face the music sooner rather than later.”

By the time he’d begun slowly meandering back to the mid-section, Rimmer could already make out the animated discussion of the group. Perched in the doorway, he could see that Lister had finally regained his vocal faculties along with his chirpy mannerisms, his grin so wide that he risked displaying the fillings in the furthest shadows of his teeth.

His focus quickly shifted to Kochanski as she listened politely to their enthusiastic regalement of their adventures to try and find her once more. Despite appearances, her beaming face was a far cry from the Pinball Smile she’d flashed when the prospect of being reunited with _her_ Dave had seemed oh-so-close.

Rimmer recognised the distance in her eyes even if Lister didn’t. His chest sighed in silent comprehension. It didn't matter that Lister had travelled thousands of light years to finally be reunited with her in the same room. It still hadn’t brought them any closer together.

Lister clocked his presence as he hovered uncertainly in the galley doorway and he dipped his head back in invitation to join them.

“Hey,” he smiled warmly, “I was just sayin’ to Krissie how amazing this is. Think about it. When you take the sheer size of the cosmos, and the fact we just happen to bump into each other.” Lister shook his head solemnly. “It’s gotta be fate, surely?”

Rimmer swallowed. Less cosmic fate, more colossal foul-up.

He scratched the back of his neck before jabbing a vague thumb over his shoulder. “Um, actually,” he ventured, his ‘Ace’ voice making a cautious return, “we were trying to find our way back - ”

“To you,” Kochanski finished, suspiciously emphatic. She snared Rimmer’s questioning glance, speaking to him pointedly. “We were trying to find a way back _here_ , right?”

Her head nodded for his agreement which, in his confusion, set his head off bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. “Right,” he echoed, no-one in the driving seat.

Missing their coded exchange, Lister’s gerbil grin scampered across his cheeks. “This is in-smegging-credible!” he cried for the fifth time that evening. “How did you do it, man? Where did you find her?”

Rimmer coughed clumsily. “The young lady had landed herself in a spot of bother with the local GELFs, that’s all.” He jutted out his chin, less in a jock-ish act, more to free his neck from the collar of his jacket that he swore blind was getting tighter. “Nothing special, I can assure you.”

Regarding him through one eye, Lister snorted jokingly. “What’s with the accent, smeghead?” he chided, a cheeky Liverpudlian wink not far behind. “Practicing keeping in character, are yer?”

Rimmer’s cheeks flared red, the increasing horde of mutant butterflies in his stomach now fighting for escape. “Something like that, Davey-boy,” he replied, pained. The ‘Ace’ voice dipped low, his old nasal tones beginning to bite through. “Keeping up the whole performance if you _catch my drift_ ,” he gritted, the words punctuated with meaningful gestures towards the woman between them.

Now it was Kochanski’s turn to be confused. “What are you two talking about?”

“Surely he’s told yer?” Lister leapt in, the veiled pleas for secrecy completely passing him by. He punched Rimmer playfully on the arm with his studded glove. “It’s Rimmer!” he announced proudly. “You know - our Rimmer!”

Kochanski shook her head, a polite laugh accompanying it. “Dave,” she sighed loftily. “He’s not Rimmer. This is Ace - ”

“ - who our Rimmer became. Exactly!” Lister pressed. “Come on, Kris, he’s got to have bored you with the story a thousand times by now?” Greeted with a blank face, he ploughed on into the tempest he just couldn’t see coming. “That the original Rimmer wasn’t dead? That he’d just been away for ten years or so being Ace?”

Rimmer’s eyes sank closed. “Lister - ”

“And that old Iron Balls over here,” the nickname was marked with teasing air quotations, “left a couple of years back to take over the job?” He broke into his famous squeaky chuckle. Either that, or someone nearby was failing to start their wheezingly ancient Skoda.

“Oh Kris, you’ve gotta tell me,” he managed eventually. “Did he have to keep checkin’ his ‘How to’ manual when he was rescuing yer? Or did he just bore the GELFs to death with his recitals of Space Corps directives?”

With his laughter dying away, Lister finally clocked the reactions of his captive audience. Rimmer was slowly shaking his head, aghast; Kochanski’s face was rapidly darkening like an oncoming storm. His smile retreated in realisation.

“He - um.” Lister coughed. “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

Kochanski didn’t answer, instead choosing to slowly turn back to face Rimmer’s look of pure, undiluted panic. “Don't you dare tell me it's true,” she growled, her voice dangerously quiet.

There was an awkward silence as Rimmer’s mouth jabbered open and closed like a robot goldfish. He’d battled a vast array of half-crazed simulants and blood-thirsty GELFs over the last two years, staring death in the face on a daily basis with an infuriatingly cocky trademark smirk. But right now, this petite woman - probably riddled with PMT judging by her murderous stare - was possibly the most frightening entity he’d ever experienced.

His eyes flitted nervously over her shoulder to Lister’s guilty wince before returning to her accusatory glare. Time to face the music.

“Miss Kochanski, ma'am, I can explain - ” he began in his old nasal tone.

Kochanski’s hands shot to her open mouth at the gut-wrenching familiarity of his voice. “Oh my god!” she cried. “Oh my god, it was you the whole time!” She paused momentarily as a memory came back to her, features clouding with a scowl. “The _whole_ time...?”

“Technically speaking, I - ”

SLAP

Rimmer circled his jaw like a masticating cow. “ - deserved that,” he continued, as if he'd never been interrupted.

His now-glowing cheek was rather used to this sort of reaction. The others couldn't have known, but he'd often found himself inadvertently stepping into old haunts and dimensions of his predecessors, subsequently meeting women who would greet him with a hard whack to the mouth. There was clearly plenty of history he would never be, and didn't overly want to be, privy to.

Her petite frame rounded on the Dwarfer trio, all now leaning away from her imperceptibly. “And you knew it was him, the whole time?” She eye-balled each of them in turn. “All of you?”

Kryten could swear blind that the piercing whistle on the air was from the steam squealing from her ears, not the kettle next door reaching a boil. The first to buckle under the pressure, his features twitched like a parody of Stan Laurel as he fumbled, unseeing, for the galley doorway.

“Why, I believe the water’s boiled, sirs, ma’am!” he announced, flustered. “I better go make a start on that round of tea.”

The Cat bundled out after him, flashing Kochanski a toothy, false grin in his wake. “Yeah, yeah,” he fumbled. “Let me help you, there.”

Kochanski growled into her palms, her breaths coming short and fast. Rimmer inched towards her carefully - this rattlesnake that was sure to bite - and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Kris - ”

She shrugged off his touch, just as Lister forced himself to do. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she ground out.

“I don’t know.” Rimmer shrugged pathetically. “I guess - ” he fumbled, “ - it didn’t come up in conversation?”

The once sapphire sparkle of her eyes disappeared as they narrowed dangerously. “Oh, I’m fairly sure that you had plenty of opportunities to slip it into the conversation,” she hissed. “When you first rescued me, perhaps? When we spent that whole night just talking and sharing stories?” Her face flushed red with sheer mortification. “When you walked in on me getting out of the shower this morning?”

She conceded it was a cheap-shot but didn’t much care right now. It was enough to fan the flames that she knew full-well had been brewing in the man beside her. And sure enough, they flared up quickly.

“You saw her naked?” Lister challenged through a dark scowl.

“Hey, don’t make me the bad guy in all this,” Rimmer bit back. With all traces of his theatrical voice now gone and the weasel biting back through, it was becoming increasingly hard to still think of him as his alter ego despite the get-up. “She knows full well it was an accident!”

At Lister’s unwavering frown, he held his hands aloft with a groan. “Now I have two people angry at me. How, pray tell, is that fair?”

Lister folded his arms. “You got to see Kris with her kit off. What are you moaning about?”

SLAP. Now two men were rubbing sore cheeks.

Kochanski glared at the pair, the hands by her sides clutched so tight that the knuckles were white. “You two deserve one another!” she snapped before turning on her heels and storming out.

Rose’s eyes flitted between the startled pair, offering an apologetic shrug before hurrying out after her. The men winced as the door seemed to slide shut a little more forcefully than usual.

Eyes sinking closed, Rimmer pinched the bridge of his nose. Cavernous nostrils flared behind his hand as he sighed. Kris had been right - he had been granted countless chances to admit to her who he was. But although he didn’t like to think about it, the pretence had been what had kept him going. If she believed the lie, he almost felt like the façade were true.

A strange crunching sound drew him from his musings. Glancing up, he was met by Lister’s guilty expression as he slowly munched on a biscuit.

“So,” Lister began through awkward chews before trailing off, not entirely sure what to say. Instead, he held out the packet as a peace offering. “Bourbon?”


	6. Identity Within

“But it’s _Rimmer_ ,” Kochanski protested, the name itself conjuring an uncontrollable shudder. “A perverted, uptight weasel of a man who probably still has a pair of my knickers under his pillow!”

The two women sat hunched over on the single bunk, the cramped confines of the guest sleeping quarters making proceedings a little awkward. Drawing her knees up defensively to her chest, Kochanski rested her chin on her hands and sighed.

She could still recall their time together on the _SS Silverberg_ and how she’d teetered uncomfortably close to sleeping with him -- or perhaps more accurately, tossing him a pity shag. The man was so desperate that he’d even asked to keep her undies as a souvenir.

Rose bit her lip, chewing over the accusation. Although the hologram had never outright confirmed her suspicions, she was fairly sure that there was some kind of hazy history there. Some form of spark or unrequited attraction -- not _love_ , definitely not love. She didn’t think him capable of that. Not yet, anyway.

Her eyes flitted critically over the woman’s features. She was pretty, admittedly, yet plainly unassuming compared to some of the stunning beauties that Ace’s reputation was capable of bedding. It was an equation that simply didn’t add up for the computer. But as she’d found all too often, certain human-generated calculations would always continue to elude her.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm,” she soothed. “He - ” Rose stopped herself, dipping her head to hide thoughtfully behind bangs of hair. Facial expressions were such an annoying giveaway. “ _I_ \- ” she shifted with the grating of gears, “ - told him not to tell you who he was.”

“But why?” Kochanski pressed, eyes searching hers.

Reaching out her hand, Rose rubbed a reassuring thumb across the bumps of the woman’s knuckles, trying to seek out the best answer. Because he might still have a hideous crush on you? Because he was too scared to? Because you actually began to show him an ounce of respect when you thought he was someone else?

“Because Ace has far too many enemies out there,” she replied eventually. It was her alibi and she was sticking with it. “Keeping the truth from you was the only way to keep you safe in case the worst happened.”

Relenting, Kochanski nodded. That did make sense. The nature of the job meant that a hostage situation automatically put any of Ace’s companions at risk of divulging the Universe’s most important secret.

“So from what Dave was saying - ” she began slowly, rolling the premise around her mouth, “ - Ace is not one person but a _character_ almost, I guess? Some kind of mythological hero figure that has to be sustained through thousands of separate incarnations?”

Rose nodded, unabashed. “Pretty much.”

Kochanski considered this for a moment before a cocktail of one-part amazement to three-parts doubt escaped in a dismissive snort. “But you’re talking about somehow forming a hero out of a man as weedy as an abandoned allotment!” She reflected the computer’s smirk as she shook her head, disbelieving. “You can’t change a person that much, surely?”

“I don’t change them,” Rose sniggered, leaning back on her hands. “I simply draw out the skills and self-confidence they had deep down all along.” She dipped her head in acceptance, her words reluctantly following suit. “Admittedly, with some of them its buried deeper than others.” The computer arched a weary eyebrow. “Some require a JCB industrial digger before I can get to what I need.”

Rose basked in the glow of the woman’s chuckle, biting back a smirk of her own. “But each one does get there in the end, you know. The caterpillar eventually becomes the butterfly.”

She nodded distantly to herself, the pride of countless incarnations warming her CPU with a resonance that couldn’t hope to be described. “And when they do?” she ventured quietly, as if almost embarrassed at her attempt to find the right words. Instead, she simply smiled. “It’s the best reward in the known Universe.”

As Kochanski’s returned the warm smile, Rose’s gaze momentarily flitted to the doorway to picture the man beyond. Despite his best efforts and her tireless encouragement, this one wasn’t quite there yet. She was sure that all he lacked was the self-belief; simply needing a good kick up the arse to make him realise that he was ready. It only needed the baptism of fire that a typical ‘blaze of glory’ moment could afford to inspire the sudden decisive shift to step up to the name he’d earned and deserved.

But she had to admit, he certainly was different. Unlike many of his predecessors, he was rather capable of revealing a cheeky, rebellious streak that she could only assume had been borne out of his time in the Tank. It had clearly not only been a penal sentence, but a servitude that had caused him to lose faith in the hierarchy he’d so faithfully followed for years. Riled by his rejection, he’d channelled his natural, pent-up aggression and sense of injustice into joining his cellmate in his love of pranks and anarchy.

In short, he was a frustratingly uncontrollable rebel who would rarely take himself or anything around him seriously. All the hallmarks of Ace Rimmer - the loveable bastard.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Rose continued through a whimsical smirk. “Despite the dangers and the near-death experiences, we do have some good laughs along the way. Sometimes you forget they won’t be around forever.”

The smile swiftly died on her lips and she coughed awkwardly. “But it’s the way it has to be, I suppose. Each of them serves their time, fulfils their destiny, then they - ” That last word failed her. Even in her explanation, it was final and fatal in its impact.

Kochanski looked pained. “It’s a dangerous job,” she offered quietly.

Rose didn’t reply.

A strange purple glow resonated from the port window. The sparkling spiral of a galaxy glided slowly across the frame, its swirls studded with distant stars that winked back at them silently.

“That must be hard,” Kochanski murmured as she watched it pass. “Spending every day with someone you know you’re going to lose in the end.”

Glancing back in the quiet that followed, she noticed that Rose’s gaze had dropped to the folds of the bed, the cheeky glimmer in her green eyes faded somewhat. The storm of conflicting emotions that thundered through her face seemed to far outstrip her artificial intelligence. For a moment, Kochanski sensed something very old, yet very human about her.

“I try not to think about it,” she decided eventually.

Kochanski nodded but said nothing. It was a truthful answer, and one she clearly wanted to leave at that.

******

It was a half-truth. She _tried_ not to think about it. About them. Him.

It had been just under two years since he’d been forcibly retired. But she still found herself wondering how he was.

The role of Ace had never been designed to be a long-term commitment, she’d known that all too well. It was far too great a responsibility, far too dangerous a risk to bear. But she’d turned a blind eye. Ignored the warning signs that had become more and more obvious each passing day.

Whenever she found herself wandering back to the memories of those ten long years, the recollection came in bitter-sweet bursts. Pulsations of fierce pride and painful regret.

The ‘what ifs’ were the worst. What if she’d never let him find out about his son? What if she’d never let him decide between the fate of the refugees of the Exodus and his old crewmates? What if she’d never let him go back to Red Dwarf to save them all that one final time?

But that’s what happens when you let them carry the flame for too long. They get burnt. Or worst still, lost to the fire itself.

  
******

Although she often thought about him, he never thought about her.

Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t. The memory of her and everything they’d experienced together had been crudely ripped from his mind like a bandage from an unhealed wound, leaving behind nothing but a sore ache that he could never quite place the meaning of.

But right now, he wasn’t really thinking at all. His mind was lost to a contented, post-coital slumber.

Legs still lazily intertwined with his, Nirvanah studied his face as he slept. The nervousness that had tugged at his features as they’d climbed into bed together had now dissolved into a relaxation she’d never thought him capable of.

She wasn’t sure which was unsettling her the most. She was still confused by how his fumbling self-awareness had evolved startlingly yet pleasingly quickly into expert slips of his fingers and feather-light bites on the nape of her neck that made her gasp with a pleasure she’d never experienced before.

It were as if the shedding of his clothes had released a completely different person hidden deep within. Awakening a sexual instinct that conjured forth a vast array of techniques that even he didn’t seem to realise he knew how to perform.

But perhaps more unsettling was the fluttering insistence in her chest telling her that she’d made a sacrifice she’d been disconcertingly happy to grant. That the usual walls of defence had easily crumbled down without her even realising; allowing him to step through, unabashed yet unassuming.

Her eyes traced the bare, shallow curve from his hip to his chest as it rose and fell steadily. If this was it, it wasn’t what she’d expected to feel like at all. It was like she’d finally woken up. That everything she’d experienced until this point had just been a dream.

Ever the starched over-thinker - a flaw equally inherent in the man lying beside her - she’d been baffled when she’d carefully studied and pored over ancient poetry that had described the initial act of love as ‘falling’. She instinctively snaked out a hand to grip the sheets of the bed in some semblance of control. It certainly felt that way. That her stomach was turning somersaults in alarm at the risk she was taking. The risk that was totally and utterly worth it.

A soft yet insistent _beeping_ sounded from the monitor across the bedroom and Nirvanah let go of a reluctant sigh. A summons to the bridge and back to reality.

Turning back to the snoozing man beside her, she felt her cheeks flush with a strange but pleasurable warmth as she kissed the tip of his nose to wake him. She giggled as his nose twitched in irritation, frowning distantly as he groaned his displeasure.

“Come on, you,” Nirvanah berated playfully. She left a trail of kisses across the metallic hairs of his chest, rousing him from an impossibly deep slumber. “We’ve been summoned. By the Captain, no doubt. I think they want you to go back.”

Blinking experimentally against the glare of the bedroom light, Rimmer glanced at her, bleary-eyed, as he raised his head from the warm depths of the pillow. “Back?” he echoed sleepily.

She giggled, combing her fingers through the mussed curls of his hair. “ _Red Dwarf?_ ” she ventured patiently. “Your crewmates have probably come to fetch you.” She smiled at him warmly before getting up to slip on a silk green dressing gown over her bare shoulders.

Hauling himself to sit upright amongst the sheets, Rimmer rolled the premise around his foggy mind as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. In that strange moment, caught between sleep and wakefulness, the name and the premise all seemed foreign to him. Instead he felt content to wallow in the post-coital, drugged warmth that seemed to be radiating through his naked body.

His hand sank back down to the bed with a satisfied sigh as he clocked the mirror across the room.

The breath caught in his throat.

The mirror that reflected a still, grey-cloaked figure, staring back at him wordlessly from the dark folds of his hood.

A shiver up his spine suddenly turned him cold. The same shadowy figure he swore blind he’d seen hovering in the mirror of his sleeping quarters back on _Red Dwarf_.

“Arnie?”

Rimmer’s head whipped back to her voice. Gathering up the red curls that had once cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes flickered with concern as they searched his.

“You coming?” she ventured.

Rimmer swallowed, forcing his cheeks to draw back a smile. “Sure,” he offered uncertainly.

After a thoughtful pause, she turned away once more. Rimmer risked a glance back to the mirror. His bemused, frazzle-haired reflection stared back.

******

 

The bridge was unsettlingly quiet when they arrived, the air hanging heavy with silent expectation.

Nirvanah’s chest tightened as she noticed the six figures stood alongside Platini and the senior crew. The very presence of their black, square-shouldered uniforms and red-stripe cuffs conjured forth a visual reminder of their fierce military standing. She’d never met the Captain and crew of the _Occassus_ before, but their serious and unfriendly reputation most definitely preceded them.

She held firm, fixing a tight, polite smile in place as she raised her hand in a perfect Enlightenment salute. “Captain Viktoras, I presume?”

Hovering nervously behind Nirvanah’s petite frame, Rimmer watched as a bear-like behemoth of a man nodded graciously, flicking a dismissive salute of his own. “Commander Crane,” he replied loftily before quickly turning his attention directly to him. His cheeks immediately broadened in what could only be described as an unashamedly Cheshire Cat grin.

“Mr Rimmer,” he roared happily. “So very good to finally meet you.” Viktoras’s dark eyes seemed to light up with a sparkle that reflected some hidden agenda. “I’ve heard so much about your - ” he paused thoughtfully, “ - reputation.”

Rimmer blinked twice, utterly confused. “I have a reputation?” he squeaked.

Viktoras threw back his head, sounding a booming laugh that echoed across the walls. “Oh I’d say so,” he nodded meaningfully. “A very _promising_ reputation.”

Nirvanah edged her way across to Platini, angling her head to allow a subtle whisper. “Captain, what on earth are they doing here?” she hissed desperately.

Platini jutted his chin to loosen his collar. “Business,” he replied simply.

“But - ”

“As in, _none of our business_ , Commander.” He glanced at her sharply before looking away once more.

Viktoras had clearly overheard the commotion behind him, swivelling back on his heels to address the pair. “As you know, we holograms live in dangerous times,” he stated with an emphasis that laid down foundations that could not be questioned or shaken. “The simulants are attacking us on all fronts.” His features and resolve hardened. “Breeding relentless holo-viruses to bring down our numbers from within.”

He drew a cleansing breath before releasing it steadily. “It’s about time we took the decision to up our game.” He shot the pair a challenging eyebrow. “Made use of the Ace up our sleeve, wouldn’t you say?”

Nirvanah frowned, unimpressed. She’d always been of the belief that the relentless and pointless war between the holograms and simulants would be resolved far more swiftly if they let go of mutual recrimination. Or better still, if the human race had never insisted on creating such a stupidly powerful battle droid race in the first place. Calling upon the assistance of the legend that was Ace was sure to bring nothing but reprisals and bloodshed.

Platini cleared his throat. “Natually, Captain,” he nodded reluctantly.

Viktoras snorted in amusement. “But as our trail of this elusive man has run disappointingly cold, we’ve reached the conclusion that we don’t necessarily have to recruit the current Ace Rimmer.” Viktoras turned back to stare pointedly at Rimmer. “Especially when we are already in the company of a past incarnation.”

The silence that followed in the wake of his words was deafening as Rimmer stared the accusation back in the face. Eventually, Nirvanah evicted it with a disbelieving scoff.

“That’s ridiculous, Captain,” she dismissed. “I’d have - ” Remembering herself and the company she was currently in, she swiftly shifted her approach. “Mr. Rimmer would have already informed us, I’m sure of it.”

“The Ace files are a category one,” Viktoras explained evenly. “Not a level of knowledge you were privy to I’m afraid, Commander.” He turned back so that his eyes bored into Rimmer’s. “His projection signal is an exact match to incarnation 12,762. Gentlemen, this man before you has served almost ten years as the legend himself. A service that is near unparalleled and unrivalled.”

“That’s not true,” Nirvanah batted back with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly spluttered and died on her lips. In the incriminating silence that followed, her face seemed to sag under the weight of the revelation. She swallowed carefully before trying to catch Rimmer’s eye. “Tell him it’s not true.”

Rimmer tried to keep his voice steady as he held Viktoras’s stare. “With respect, sir, I've never been Ace - ” he said emphatically, not sure who exactly he was trying to convince more.

“Correction,” Viktoras cut in, unfazed. “You don't _remember_ being Ace. Memory wipes at the end of service are standard procedure according to other incarnations we’ve encountered. But we have the technology to rectify that rather easily,” he added with a nonchalant wave of the hand, as if this were a minor issue.

“Rectify?” Rimmer echoed unsteadily.

“It’s no secret that we’re in need of some information and - ” Viktoras paused thoughtfully, as if searching for the right word, “ - _assistance_ that it seems that only you are able to provide us with.”  
 _  
Because they want a murderer, Mr. Rimmer. A man who can help them slaughter the simulant race._

As if it were an echo of their encounter at the Blerion Trading Post weeks before, Juno’s words seemed to be reborn at that very moment. The warning felt so stark and real, it felt as though the symbi-morph herself were standing right there beside that intimidating colossus of a man, staring back at him expectantly.

“You see, Mr Rimmer,” Viktoras continued, “we’ve been looking for you for a very, very long time.”

As Rimmer’s eyes desperately flitted across the Captain’s aged yet rugged features, they snagged on the strong, familiar definitions of his jaw. And in a flash, he could picture - no, remember - how he had seen him at the Festival of the Full Moon back on Blerios 5. He’d been thrusting some intelligible photograph into the face of an un-amused stall-holder, demanding to know the subject’s whereabouts.

Yes. Yes they had.

Rimmer suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He blinked away the memory, confused.

Viktoras smiled a salesman smile; all flash and no substance. His group of bear-built solders stepped forward to flank him, as if to seal the deal. “So if you’d be so kind as to come with us, Mr. Rimmer,” he concluded.

 _You're history if they catch you._

Rimmer’s breath quickened. This wasn't a mission for information. He’d walked right into a trap.

“I er - ” he fumbled, shooting Nirvanah a panicked glance. “I don't think I want to.”

Viktoras’s face darkened. This clearly wasn't the response he’d been after. “I think you’ll find, Mr Rimmer, that was a request, not an invitation.”

As Viktoras took a step towards him, Rimmer took a nervous step back. His eyes flitted across the crew of the Enlightenment searching their faces, silently pleading for help. Nobody said anything. They simply averted their gaze with awkward coughs.

“Excuse me, _Captain_ ,” Nirvanah drew out the word in an immaculately well-heeled accent that revealed exactly what she thought of his 'request'. “But I think you’ll find you can’t just stride aboard with your gorilla types and expect us to comply.” She half-turned to Platini. “Please, sir - do something,” she whispered under her breath.

And Platini did. Unfortunately it wasn't the move that Nirvanah was expecting. She gasped in shock as he gripped her neck, pressing a quivering gun into the small of her back.

“I’m sorry, Commander, I had no choice.”

A bead of simulated sweat traced a line down Platini’s temple. Although the premise of holding a member of his own crew hostage verged on unforgivable, the desperation for his own self-preservation was far stronger.

Grasping her tighter, Platini’s features hardened as he regarded their guest over her shoulder. “Mr Rimmer, if you don't comply, I’ll be forced to use Commander Crane’s dead lightbee as a rather decorative paperweight,” he threatened evenly.

Rimmer stared at the pair, aghast - a wave of self-loathing paralysing him. This had to be a some sort of sick joke, surely? How in the name of smeg could he ever have been Ace? After all, despite his unforgivable levels of smug-gittery, Ace would never have been as scared rigid as he was now.

Surely if he’d once been Ace, he’d have disabled Platini with a devastating roundhouse kick by now, freed Nirvanah, snatched up the gun and with a flick of his girly blonde locks told Viktoras exactly where he could stick his 'request'.

“It’s your choice, Mr. Rimmer,” Viktoras announced broadly, his dark eyes glinting. “Personally, I wouldn’t want to sacrifice such a pretty specimen.”

Of course he wasn’t Ace. He was just Arnold J. Rimmer - a coward who could only watch helplessly as the woman he loved was held to ransom.

“Shall we?” Viktoras challenged with an arched eyebrow.

“Arnie, don’t.” Nirvanah shook her head desperately. “Don’t.”

Rimmer’s gaze flitted between them each of them in turn, as if weighing up his decision. Eventually with a relenting sigh his eyes sank closed, head bowed to the floor. He nodded silently.

Viktoras’s chuckle echoed across the walls of the bridge as he strode towards him. “Finally!” he boomed, encircling the defeated hologram until he stood directly behind him. “I was beginning to think we’d have a fight on our hands!” He snorted derisively. “Although admittedly, I’m a little disappointed not to have seen you in action yet.”

Startled, Rimmer jumped as he grasped him roughly by the arms; shrinking back as that menacing voice tickled his ear.

“Let’s have a dig around in those memory files of yours, shall we?” It whispered. “Perhaps we’ll find you a _backbone_ after all.”


	7. Misconceptions: part one

At first glance, it would be easy to mistake the short, growling figure in the doorway as some form of miniature Kinitowawi. Perhaps one that had stowed away, undiscovered, on the Wildfire for months - only now deigning to emerge from a make-shift den concocted of abandoned food crates and dust sheets.

Indeed, the explosion of knotted reddish-brown hair threw the face below into a mask of shadow that rendered identification impossible. A tired, rumbling yawn groaned from its depths.

Kochanski hadn't slept _that_ badly since the incident with the noisy pipes back on Starbug.

Futile fingers combed through the tangles of her mane as she meandered down the corridor, somehow hoping to tame it back into some semblance of a pony-tail. Sleep had most definitely eluded her, she'd decided. Waived gaily as it buggered off on some unspecified business trip.

In its absence, her mind had outright refused to switch off for the night. Instead, it seemed far more intent on poring over the oxymoron of the man next door. The sarcastic hero. The gallant weasel. The man who was both Ace and Arnold - and yet neither.

The light from his doorway stretched weakly into the murk of the corridor; the darkness rapidly losing its claim with the morning's gradual arrival. Kochanski rubbed her eyes with an equal mix of confusion and exhaustion. Odd.

Keeping a light tread across the harsh metal-grating of the deck, she edged into the light to peer inside. And there the conundrum himself sat; the table before him littered with the glinting components of weaponry rather than the astronavigation revision notes that she had once been used to. The square shoulders of his jacket were now rounded in a hunch of concentration as he meticulously cleaned each gun part with a collection of cloths and brushes laid out neatly beside him.

It was like a visual _trompe de l'oiel _that she'd suddenly solved. Now that she knew he was Rimmer, she could see nothing but. Despite the wig's uncanny ability to transform the once-spiky angles of his face, his characteristic rodent nose twitch as he focused on his fiddly work belied his true identity.__

"If you're trying to be subtle, I can confirm that you're failing miserably."

Kochanski jumped at the familiarity of his voice. The smooth, dulcet tones that she'd once heard gliding like caramel from his tongue had now melted away. In its place came the return of the snide, nasal notes that snagged on her patience like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He hadn't even deigned to glance up at her. Instead, he placed his tiny brush with regimental precision in the reporting line beside him before selecting another for duty.

"Can I come in?"

Rimmer arched an eyebrow from under the bangs of his wig. To the outsider it would appear to be a dismissive gesture. To Kochanski, she knew it to be a begrudging invitation. She approached him slowly until she stood at the table.

"May I sit down?" she prompted.

Again, he didn't reply verbally or even acknowledge her request with eye contact. Instead, the chair in front her suddenly thrust away from the table in a wordless, screeching response to her request.

Kochanski prickled at his rudeness but sat down regardless. In the eerie, early morning silence that resonated in place of conversation, she allowed her eyes to wander across the unfamiliar sleeping quarters. Despite their initial friendly closeness upon her rescue and the late night heart-to-hearts that had followed, she realised that she'd never seen his quarters before. She'd never needed to. He'd always come to her - as if he could sense her need for reassurance and closeness.

Now she could see why. This was the only place in the universe where Ace and Arnold collided. Where two identities clashed together, fighting for some semblance of supremacy. The hero's brash and bold gallantry - reflected in the room's liberal littering of weaponry, star charts and tokens of gratitude from far-flung galaxies - had definitely been tamed by a familiar obsession with tidiness and order.

Kochanski raised an eyebrow at the double bunk. Of course. After all, what else did she expect? It had to be a bed large enough to house the man, his ego, and the latest participant in what appeared to be Ace's sponsored shag-a-thon through the known universes.

She blinked. It looked untouched.

"You've not been to bed."

"Astounding deduction, Sherlock."

Kochanski regarded him with a reproachful frown that went unnoticed, but her brow soon receded as she studied his face more carefully. Despite their fixed concentration on his work, the tired, dark shadows under his eyes were more than evident.

"Couldn't sleep?" she ventured.

Still focused on his cleaning rather than returning her gaze, he expelled a protracted and deliberate sigh of irritation. "Things to do."

Kochanski rolled her eyes. Only he would be capable of becoming _more_ angry after an argument, not less. Brooding over his grudge like a chicken hatching an egg. Well, if she had to be the more mature of the pair then so be it.

"I'm sorry I slapped you." Nervous fingers knotted in her lap before clasping together in an overly formal manner for someone attired in third-hand, make-shift pyjamas. Her voice adopted a rather starched approach that uncannily mirrored his. "But you lied to me and I was angry. I hope you understand that."

She shifted awkwardly in her seat as the flicks of his brush increased the aggressiveness of their strokes. Her polished reprimand had sounded uncomfortably like an echo of her mother's - the ever prim and proper lady who had worked tirelessly to shed the unwanted family inheritance that came with their Glaswegian roots and working class background. With a shudder, she deliberately extracted the harshness from her tone and softened her approach.

"But Rose explained that you were trying to protect me," she nodded gently. "After all, this is your -" she paused, searching for the right word, " - job now, I suppose."

The man beside her remained silent. Kochanski watched as he glanced experimentally down the gun sight before deciding upon another brush.

Her chest fluttered for a moment, recalling the unsettling ease with which he'd brandished those weapons in the name of protecting her. She wondered how many other enemies he'd regarded through the cold, unseeing eyes of those barrels.

A chill crawled up her spine. She wondered how he'd felt when he himself had stared into those very eyes. Staring his own death in the face - unprepared, defenceless and afraid.

"She also told me what happened," she ventured quietly. "What that simulant did to you."

It had been an act beyond humanity. How - in the final battle between the simulants and Rimmer's predecessor almost two years previously - he had been killed in cold blood. Just to stop what the simulants had thought to be the next link in the chain of Ace's successors.

Indeed, Rimmer's eyes winced closed, as if haunted by the echo of the fatal bullet. Kochanski bit her lip as she noticed his brush stop for just a moment, his brow pinched with a pained frown that he shrugged off quickly to return to his task.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Whether she was offering a surreal formality of condolence or apology for treading one step too close for comfort, she wasn't certain.

Whatever the connotation, Rimmer's nostrils flared for a moment at her words before settling into position once more. Despite the stern look on his face, his fingers now resonated with a barely noticeable tremble that made the brush quiver.

She offered a quiet olive branch the only way she knew how. "You know, if you ever want to - "

"Kris!"

The suddenness of his outburst visibly startled her - but not quite so much as the terrible silence that followed when he finally locked his stare with hers. The hazel swirls of his eyes looked charged with the power of so many words unsaid.

Eventually, Rimmer's exasperated sigh released it. "Funnily enough, there's a reason why Hallmark don't do greetings cards that read - 'Sorry you popped your clogs - I'm here if you want a chat about it.'."

Plucking up one of the magazine cartridges from the table, he inspected it silently - counting and logging the rounds in neat copperplate handwriting on the notepad beside him. "In polite society, it's still regarded as a bit of a conversation-killer. Pardon the pun."

Riled by his sarcasm, her exhaustion, and what seemed like an eternal damnation of rudeness, Kochanski let forth a frustrated growl. "Then what on earth are you so angry about?" she snapped.

Slamming down the magazine, Rimmer's eyes suddenly flared with angered desperation. "That you're finding it so bloody hard to accept!"

Kochanski blinked quickly, startled by the direct nature of his accusation. She fumbled to feign ignorance. "Finding what - ?"

"Me!" he cried, barely allowing her to speak. "And him! I mean - " Rimmer's eyes screwed closed, as if even he were struggling to solve the riddle, " - me being him!" In the wake of her wordless reply, Rimmer continued to release the pressured build-up of steam that begged for release.

"Just tell me why it's so hard for you to accept," he demanded, his voice suddenly far harsher. "Why is it so smegging difficult to fathom that I might have changed? That I might have actually - I don't know - done something right for once in my life?"

Kochanski's eyes flitted left and right, as if to seek out the answer that she hoped would be hidden in his. Eventually, her gaze dropped to the deck. "I don't know," she whispered. It was the truth, and he clearly knew it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Rimmer dragged his hands down his face, growling into his palms. After a thoughtful pause, he peeled off the - yes, it had been a wig all this time – to run long, thin fingers through his curls, teasing them back into life once more. No. Gripping them with all his might as his pained eyes fell closed.

"Course not," he conceded with a resigned sigh, his tone tumbling back into the familiar realms of bitterness. "It seems I should be used to playing second fiddle by now. A second-class Arnold Rimmer and now a second-class Ace." A dismissive snort jetted down flared nostrils. "How on Io could I expect someone like you to understand?"

"For someone like me to understand?" Kochanski echoed, suddenly feeling more riled than she'd ever been. She felt the full sickening injustice of his throwaway statement thunder through her being, and her aggressiveness quickly took on its power.

"Why is it so difficult for you to fathom that you might not be the only person in the entire bloody cosmos who feels like they don't fit in?" she snapped back. "You're not the only one who doesn't quite belong here, you know. You of all people should know that."

Ten years it may have been, but the memories of those post-Tank months aboard Red Dwarf still resonated clearly in her mind. Rimmer had more than borne witness to the increasingly tense and awkward frustrations that had developed between her and Dave as the relentless, empty days ticked by. The fact that he wasn't _her_ Dave. That she wasn't _his_ Kris.

"Yes, I get it - you've got some bloody big boots to fill," she nodded sharply. "But you really think that you're the only one living in someone else's shadow? Trying to fathom in your mind how the hell this twisted existence works?"

She hardly noticed as her tone shifted - from direct, questioning accusation to self-pitying reflection. "Trying not to feel like you're just a substitute for someone else," she mumbled. "Trying to ignore the fact that even though they're looking right at you, they're not quite seeing you." She blinked rapidly. "Being made to feel like the lowest of the low just because you can't feel the same way they do?"

Rimmer didn't reply. But she sensed that, this time, he was merely unable to find the words.

"So what gives you the right to sit there and decide that I couldn't possibly understand?" she demanded. "Not know how it feels - "

She stopped as the once water-tight seal of her tone finally cracked - raw, undiluted distress seeping through.

Kochanski could sense his eyes flitting across her bowed face; like a child struggling to comprehend the complexity of emotion resonating from the person before them. Clearly, for him, there were still lessons to be learned in this strange, intricate notion known as empathy.

Eventually he spoke, but his offering did nothing to dispel the immaturity of the image.

"Cos it's my ship."

She glanced back up at him. Although the tone had resonated his usual, pouting possessiveness, something behind Rimmer's eyes flickered with understanding. A sincerity that could only be expressed through his own limitations of mocking humour.

Kochanski reacted the only way a person with eight cups of sugary tea and two hours sleep to their name possibly could. Her face split helplessly, collapsing into giggles. She swiped at the tears that had begun to sting the corners of her eyes. "You arsehole," she managed.

Rimmer regarded her wordlessly for a moment. But rather than the scathing comment she expected in return, his face softened slightly in a manner she'd only seen when they'd been trapped together back on the SS Silverberg. As if this expression rarely had the chance to surface above the hard, stony façade.

"You know what?" he said, regarding her earnestly. "When I managed to rescue you, I was almost glad that you didn't recognise it was me. It meant that I'd finally done it. That I'd managed to change. Become him."

Rimmer's eyes dropped to the array of gun components spread before him, suddenly appearing painfully self-conscious. "Then the others arrived and smeg-for-brains out there blew my cover." He rolled his eyes wearily. "Full of the usual insults I just knew he'd come out with."

Kochanski watched as he wiped away an invisible smear from the zealously-polished handle of the gun that lay in silent wait beside him.

"The annoying thing is, Lister was right. I wasn't perfect at this hero lark." His voice carried a bitter tinge at the edges as he snapped the magazines into place. "Hell, I was making mistakes left, right and centre." He grimaced. "As Rose seems to want to remind me _ad infinitum_."

Dredging up as sincere a face as was feasible, Kochanski shook her head. "Now that's not true," she soothed. "Rose does not think you make mistakes left, right and centre."

Click. The slides snapped into place as Rimmer arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Okay, she did say you still make some," she relented.

Rimmer sighed, placing the loaded guns carefully on the table. "I lied to you, I admit," he nodded, reaching behind his chair to unhook the weaponry belt that had been slung on its back. "But it felt like if you believed the lie -" he paused to tear away his gaze, cheeks flaring red as his voice dropped to a mumble, " - it felt as if it was true for me too."

He slotted each gun with solemn reverence into their leather holsters, not able to look her in the face. Instead, his brow furrowed, pained.

"After two long smegging years, I was really beginning to think - " His mouth hung open, as if desperate to say the words. Instead he exhaled heavily, his tight-set characteristic frown making a swift return. "Forget it."

Kochanski watched as the hologram scraped back his chair before wandering dejectedly across to the bunk. She didn't seek for him to continue as he sank down to sit on the pristine sleeping bag; merely cast out her line into the ripples of thought and waited patiently. When he was ready to take the bait of silence, he would.

Indeed, he seemed to pause for a moment as if to seek the right words, before picking at the loose thread of a half-buried memory. A memory that - thanks to his nano-created existence - technically wasn't his, but clearly haunted him just as vividly.

"When I was about eight," Rimmer mused, "there was this horrible kid at school called Martin Riley." He shuddered almost imperceptibly at the mere mention of his name. "A real bully type. The sort of charming child who liked to ensure my head and the toilet bowl made acquaintance every morning at break-time."

"Oh, how awful," Kochanski clucked, although she wasn't entirely surprised. She could picture young Arnold - a lanky, pale specimen who was yet to grow into his awkward height and skinny face. A 'sitting duck' candidate for the butt of childish pranks.

Rimmer gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Smeg happens," he surmised philosophically. "Anyway, once I was out of Io House, I told myself I was destined for greater careers than someone like Riley - a kid who was thicker than a banker's wad."

Kochanski curled back chilly bare toes against the metal of the deck, watching as he straightened with proud recollection. "I secured a sought-after spot on a mining ship, working my way up the chain of command. I was merely inches from becoming an officer, as you well know."

Biting back a smirk, Kochanski merely gave a slight nod. "Mm - " she added, non-committal.

Her amusement unnoticed, Rimmer continued. "So when I went back for the school reunion about six months before the accident, I was itching to rub it in Riley's face. And true to form, I overheard someone at the buffet table saying that even after fifteen years since leaving school, he was still pushing trolleys for a living."

Intrigue reeled her in. Snagged on her own line, Kochanski meandered towards him, hands tucked under her arms against the chill. "So did you speak to him?"

"I did," he nodded, although the conviction was no longer there. "But it was like the last fifteen years had never happened. I turned back into a gibbering wreck." Rimmer winced visibly, as if he could still hear the man's mockery. "He just laughed in my face and called me an idiot." His eyes sank closed with a ragged sigh. "God, I'd never felt so small in all my life."

Rimmer fell quiet for a moment. In the awkward silence that followed, Kochanski sank down to join him on the bunk.

"You go away and achieve so many great things," he muttered, as if to himself. "So many that you just know the people back home are going to be blown away by what you've become."

His brow pinched in resignation. "But when you're back?" Rimmer shook his head slowly. "It's like nothing's changed." His gaze dropped to the fingers tangled together between splayed knees. "It's like you're eight years old again."

Kochanski was no fool. She could read between the lines.

"Kris, I'm tired of _playing_ him," he mumbled. "I want to _be_ him."

"You _are_ him."

Greeted by his trademark dismissive eyebrow as he leant back on the bunk, Kochanski released a sigh that teetered on exasperation.

"Look, you are a completely different person now," she asserted. "I can honestly say that the man who saved me from those GELFs was nothing like the one I used to know."

She could still recall the determination etched on his face as he single-handedly challenged the hooded tribe, head on. The fearless, yet calm and measured conviction with which he'd moved. How he'd reassured her through both words and actions, putting her instantly at ease. Making her feel safe when she'd needed it most.

"You'd become confident, and secure, and - " Kochanski fished for the word with open hands, " - _caring_."

Rimmer's startled eyes met hers. It was clearly an adjective he'd never heard used in previous descriptions of his personality. But sure enough, the flickered beginnings of another man sat intertwined in their depths, struggling to surface above the twisted mess of nerves and negativity.

"By asking you to get me back to my dimension, I didn't realise how much of a risk I was asking you to take," she explained. "Not just the dangerous, fool-hardy, 'ignoring inter-dimensional laws' part - " Kochanski fidgeted awkwardly, the heat of shame prickling the back of her neck. " - but the fact that I was asking you to choose sides. Decide where your loyalties lie." Biting her lip, her eyes flitted across the room, unable or unwilling to settle. "Hoping that Dave would never find out."

She could sense the internal struggle that raged behind his gaze as it sank to regard his boots. It was a choice he'd seemingly been able to make easily enough only hours before. But now it were as if the guilt of his decision had returned to haunt him in the curry-scented flesh.

"Thank you."

Rimmer nodded slowly. As before, his reply remained wordless.

"You _are_ Ace." Kochanski's nod echoed his, the conviction developing slowly but surely. "I know you are."

Rimmer drew in a thoughtful breath before exhaling heavily, nostrils flaring wide. Eventually his eyes risked a sideways glance that she greeted with the flickering embers of a warm smile. She rubbed a reassuring thumb across the knuckles of the hand that rested on the bed beside her.

"But I get the feeling," she added carefully, "that it's not us that you're trying to convince."


	8. Misconceptions: part two

It was far too early in the morning for David Lister.

Mind you, anything before 12:30 in the afternoon would have been considered a rude awakening by the slothful Scouser. Any period of the day where you could still taste the toothpaste automatically logged in his diary as a premature start to the day's proceedings.

6am. He didn't even realise there was a 6am - a strange, ethereal time of the morning that hovered on the peripherals of myth. Surely 6am had been outlawed in medieval times on the grounds of cruelty to the working populace?

But it seemed that in Ace's line of work, the helpline had to be kept open 24/7. Indeed, the buzzing persistence of the comms alert on Wildfire's dashboard had roused him from an already uncomfortable sleep, curled up in the co-pilot's chair. Would it really have hurt the damsel in distress if she'd waited until a more reasonable hour to seek assistance?

It was then that he'd recognised the ship's ident code. The SS Enlightenment. If Rimmer had cracked open the Risk board or started quoting Space Corps Directives at those stuck-up sods, it was likely to be a deservedly desperate cry for help.

Slouching his way down the corridor towards Ace's sleeping quarters, Lister released a satisfying crack from his neck whilst simultaneously scratching at a persistent itch under his left armpit. He smiled happily to himself. Who says that men can't do two things at once - especially at this godforsaken hour?

But as he neared the open doorway, the chirpy grin began to sink down his cheeks as he gradually made out the hushed whispers of conversation.

"Promise me you won't tell him what we were doing, okay?"

"Kris, he has a right to know."

"It'd break his heart if he found out. Promise you won't say anything."

There was the hiss of a relenting sigh. "For now. He may have the brain capacity of a squashed maggot, but even Lister's going to work it out sooner or later."

Lister's mouth gaped open as he sank back silently from the doorway. A million and one assumptions tumbled freely through his mind, emotions rising and flaring up quickly. Sensing the self-destructive power of their creation, the rational part of his brain waded through the thick murk and piped up quickly.

Rimmer and Kris an item? That made about as much sense as a salad garnish on a mutton vindaloo - ridiculous, mismatched and nauseating to contemplate.

This surge of scoffery gave him an encouraging shove in the back, and before he knew it, he had stumbled into the light of the doorway to expose the ridiculous illusion with his own eyes. However, he hadn't quite counted on seeing the once-awkward pair now seated quite so close together on the double bunk. His stomach lurched as the pair's hands surreptitiously darted away from one another at his sudden presence.

Blinking his surprise, Lister's eyes quickly flitted away as if he'd seen something he shouldn't. In the strained silence that followed, Rimmer arched a confused eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" the hologram prompted.

"Looks that way." The words escaped as a mournful resignation before he could even reign them back in. His head bowed in comprehension.

"Sorry?"

With all the learned practice that comes with years of using chirpy optimism as a defence mechanism, Lister recovered quickly. An apologetic, snorting clear of the throat from behind his fist masked the pain flaring in his chest, preventing it from escaping in some semblance of verbal attack.

"Sorry, man. Way too early in the morning if you ask me," he fumbled, struggling to clamber back into the saddle. With lost eyes trailing across the scene before him, he managed to jab a vague thumb over his shoulder.

"We're gettin' some kind of SOS from the Enlightenment," he continued, fighting to even form the words. "Seems like your better half is already rubbin' them up the wrong way. Probably time to go fetch him before he cracks out the photo album of his favourite telegraph poles and sends 'em completely barmy."

Rimmer nodded, proffering his trademark clearing of the throat as he slipped his wig back on with visible awkwardness. Lister averted his gaze. The act seemed to be almost as private and personal as seeing someone undressing.

"Course," Rimmer coughed, his voice not quite sure which accent to follow. A forced chuckle spluttered forth as he stood before adding - "Some things never change, eh?"

Lister found himself barely capable of a polite sniff in return. "Once a bastard, always a bastard," he agreed pointedly.

Rimmer didn't reply. Clearly missing the meaning, his mouth simply curled at the corner in some semblance of a smile as he brushed past. Trailing in his wake, Kochanski self-consciously spooned back a stray lock of her hair before she too slipped past wordlessly.

Lister's cheery slap against the door-frame was a little more forceful than was called for as his fixed grin finally sank to dribble down his cheeks.

That back-stabbing, lying, poncing son of a smegging smegger.

So that's why Rimmer hadn't told Kris who he really smegging was. It had all been a massive ploy. A weasel of a plan wherein by giving her a dashing flick of his new-found wig and brandishing a gun of double-entendre proportions, he'd hopefully end up getting her in the sack.

Well it worked, though. Didn't it, smeghead? Paranoia sneered. Confidence stayed silent - clearly away on some kind of business conference.

Waving the pale, thin face from his mind's eye, he cracked open the emergency can of Leopard Lager that he kept stashed in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and took a defiant schlurp. Well, if that's what the universe had dished up for good ol' David 'squashed maggot brains' Lister, then he could drink to that.

Yes, he was angry - after spending the last five years trying to find her, fawning over her absence, he'd been greeted with a reward akin to a slap round the face. But it felt like so much more than that. A far greater sense of resignation. After all the smeg that had been hurled in his direction and piled on top of him over the last few years, he was retaliating with a final, rebellious two-fingered salute to fate.

He stopped as he reached the doorway to the mid-section, shoulder casually slumped against the frame as he took another pull from his can. The crew had gathered to watch the woman with the red, coiffured hair on the vid-screen as she recounted her tale of woe from the SS Enlightenment.

Presumably Rimmer had resorted to the Morris dancing, judging by the grim looks on everyone's faces. Everyone apart from the Cat, who looked as though he were approximately two inches away from licking the screen in drooling admiration of the woman before him.

"Don't fret, Ms Crane," Rimmer nodded, confidence seeping from every sickening syllable. "We'll get this all wrapped up before tea time. You'll see."

Lister had secretly been enjoying a rather self-satisfying scenario - wherein Kris stood laughing derisively as Rimmer, bedecked in his wig, Ace-get-up and protective colander head-gear, cowered under the scanner table - when the familiarity of the name snared his attention.

"Hang on," he cut in, licking the foam from his lips. He frowned in concentration as he dredged up the name of both woman and ship from the murky depths of his mind before clicking them into place. "Crane?" he echoed, turning back to the screen. "As in Nirvanah Crane?"

The red-head's gaze darted briefly to Rimmer before returning to him. "That's right," she ventured.

Lister's eyes flitted across her features in appreciation before surprise tugged at his eyebrow. "Smeggin' hell, he weren't wrong," he muttered, his grin peppered with ill-concealed amusement.

Rimmer hadn't been lying. She was a little too starched and coiffured for his personal liking, but he had to admit that the lucky smegger had managed to get his leg over with a rather impressive specimen. 

At the group's bemused glances, Lister cleared his throat audibly, sincerity fighting for return. "I mean, Rimmer's told me a lot about yer," he offered awkwardly. It was the only polite way he could put it, short of recounting the sordid detail of the hologram's drunken recollection of events.

There was a snigger from the Cat's direction, swiftly followed by a reprimanding elbow from the computer sprite beside him.

An embarrassed snort spluttered an escape before Nirvanah too cleared her throat. "Indeed," she nodded tightly, feebly conjuring an air of lofty abandon.

"Dave," Kochanski implored pointedly, clearly trying to spare the woman's blushes. "Now's really not the time, okay?" She was biting the tip of her thumb anxiously. "It seems that there's a bit of a situation regarding your Rimmer."

Lister blinked at her strangely - a look he didn't realise that the Rimmer across the room had subtly echoed. It were as if her choice of words had drawn lines in the sand, dividing up the territory of the group. By defining the original Rimmer as 'theirs', it were almost as if the latest Ace had been dragged across the fence to join her in some unspoken divide.

Sensing the uneasy air, Kryten stepped in quickly to elaborate. "It seems that the crew of a hologram war vessel known as the SS Occassus have taken Mr Rimmer, sir," he explained, flustered. Cubed fingers drummed nervously on his chest. "According to Ms Crane, they plan to extract the hidden memory files from Mr Rimmer's database, effectively resurrecting him as Ace in order to - " The mechanoid's voice climbed three octaves of panic before trailing off silently in some mechanical parody of Stan Laurel. " - in order to - "

Rose patted Kryten reassuringly on the angles of his metallic shoulder plates. "In order to help them fight the simulants," she sighed wearily. "But it'll never work. His Ace files are hidden and stored safely up in his dormant memory banks." She tapped her temple with her forefinger in indication. "Under my lock and key, electronically speaking." She rolled her eyes, less-than-subtly, as she added with a mutter under her breath. "Holograms and their bloody school-yard squabbles."

Thousands of years of existence had allowed the computer to bear witness to the never-ending war between the holograms and the simulants. The holograms' increasing arrogance and the simulants' vengeful bloodlust showed no signs of abating, but it was a tiresome tiff that an old, electronic life form such as herself was tired of having to steer clear of.

But Lister was far from appeased by the flippancy of Rose's reassurances. Indeed, he shared Kryten's sense of rising panic as he too remembered the fortune-teller's words back on the Trading Post. He could still recount the prophecy as clearly as the day he'd first heard it, the voice that gave it life shaking with fear.

_The forces at war will try and bring him back. He must not be allowed to return, or he'll be lost to the darkness and destroy everything and everyone in his path._

A far darker sense of sobriety seemed to smack him round the face. His stomach sunk in realisation as the pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. Perhaps his two-fingered salute had been a tad too cocky for fate's liking.

Lister wheeled back to Nirvanah's crackling image. "Why didn't you lot stop 'em taking him?" he demanded, his usual calm and relaxed approach having been dismissed on a cigarette break. "Don't you know what this means? The danger he's now in? The danger we're _all_ now in?"

"Hey relax, buddy," the Cat cut in. He swept off the poppadom shards from Lister's jacket in some semblance of reassurance before swivelling back to the woman on the screen. "I'm sure you guys knew that Goalpost Head was old and ugly enough to take care of himself. Right, baby?"

Nirvanah shook her head despairingly, her eyes beginning to glimmer weakly with the dawn of tears. "I tried. I really did try - " she implored to Lister, all previous decorum now swiftly melting away.

Rimmer deliberately cleared his throat, reaching out surreptitiously for the comm's controls. "Er - bit of static on the line here, sweet-cheeks," he commanded in a voice smooth enough to plaster over the cracks of the blatant lie. "Half a mo."

Lister watched as the hologram stalled the link in static before rounding on him, aghast. "What the smegging hell do you think you're doing?" he reprimanded, the familiar nasal tone now back in play.

"Rimmer, you don't understand." Lister's eyes screwed closed, squeezing both temples between his thumb and fingers. He could almost feel the resounding thumps back and forth as the words of the prophecy bounced between them. "This is serious - "

"Too right this is serious!" Rimmer echoed. "The woman's contacting us on a hidden channel, for smeg's sake! She's just been warning us that the back-stabbing captain of hers was in on the whole deal of turning the smegger in." He shook his head, incredulous. "And you're stood there giving her a hard time over all of this? What on Io was she supposed to have done to stop it?"

Snared between the panic of the situation and his increasing resentment of the man before him, Lister frowned. "I don't smeggin' know!" he cried, flustered. "But she's the reason Rimmer was on that ship in the first place! After shagging him once, god knows how many years ago, she probably blind-sided him with the promise of a repeat smegging performance!"

"Lister - " Both Rimmer's voice and face were now buried in his hands, presumably fighting for both patience and the mind-power to forget the disturbing image of his alter-ego getting his leg over. "For once, can't you just stand aside and let me do my smegging job?"

A snort of disbelief jetted down Lister's nostrils. "Is that how you see this?" he baited angrily. "Your job?" He threw up his hands in disgusted frustration before clasping them behind his head. "Presumably a petty situation like this must be incredibly dull compared to your usual 9 to 5."

"At least one of us seems to know what the smeg they're doing!" Rimmer snapped back, thrusting a finger at the screen. "Not turning on vulnerable victims who have come to me for help! Funnily enough, I don't recall there being any mention in my months of in-depth training that I should be reprimanding those in need of assistance for getting into trouble in the first bloody place!" He folded his arms, mock-solemn in his recollection. "In fact, I'm fairly sure the manual covered it in the first chapter - "

Lister growled to himself. Rimmer couldn't see the urgency of the situation at all. For him, this was clearly just another day in the office. A chance to put on a show for the old crowd.

"Rimmer," he fired back tetchily. "If you're gonna insist on quotin' from 'The Idiot's Guide to Playing the Hero', I think you'll find - after your months of in-depth training – " he marked the mocking echo with air quotations, " - that this is a 'Crap Creek' situation."

The hologram scowled openly. "I think you'll find it's called 'professionalism', Lister," he ground out. "Look it up in the dictionary."

"Is it next to 'prick', by any chance?"

" _Perhaps –_ " Rose leapt in quickly to halt the onslaught of venom that was sure to continue, " – Lister would be so kind as to explain what he means?" she prompted.

Lister wheeled back to face her, visibly shaking with the anger and panic that pulsed through his system. "He's not even _listening_ , for smeg's sake - !"

" _I'm_ listening."

The computer's voice clearly offered the authoritative yet reassuring tone that Lister needed to hear; the flares of the man's frustration calming long enough to pause and regard her evenly for a brief moment. But as her gaze flitted momentarily to the quivering of his hands before returning to his expectant stare, something horribly instinctive needled at her CPU. This was just the eye of the storm. Clearly something far greater, far darker, loomed on the horizon.

Despite the concern that instantly rippled through every electron of her being, Rose managed to keep the resulting flickers on her face to a minimum.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

The dark sparkle of Lister's eyes burned with so many words unsaid. "It's coming true," he mumbled, his voice crumbled at the edges. "Everything she said. It's all coming true."

Rose's eyes pinched in confusion. "Everything who said - ?"

"Ever since we crash-landed on that stupid smeggin' Trading Post, we've had to keep looking over our shoulder." Lister's words creaked with weeks of pent-up frustration. "First of all that smeggin' symbi-morph told Rimmer that he used to be Ace - "

Reeling silently at his words, the computer could barely focus on which of her own to voice first. "A symbi - ? Told - ?"

"And then this GELF fortune-teller said all these things to me," Lister continued, the gates now wide open for the confessions to spill forth. "Stuff she couldn't possibly have known."

He turned to Kochanski who was stood, dumb-struck at this sudden onslaught of admissions. His hand rose to her in gesture before falling to his side once more, defeated. "That I was looking for the woman I loved - "

Kochanski's eyes sank closed. She dipped her head to the floor.

Lister shook his head as he watched her before tearing away his gaze. "She told me we'd find Kris and BAM." He thrust out a finger at Rimmer. "She told me we'd find Ace and BAM."

His attention turned back to Rose, voice dropping low. As if speaking the words too loudly risked them being brought to life. "She warned us about Rimmer. She told us - she _knew_ \- that the holograms would try and bring him back as Ace."

Lister blinked quickly, reeling at the torrent that had spilled forth from his own mouth. "And that when they did, something horrible would him against us and make him destroy us all."

The last human watched as ancient eyes wordlessly searched his.

"Can you remember where this trading post was, Kryten?" Rose asked simply.

Kryten's face twitched surreptitiously before answering. "I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied. A computer she may be – an electronic equal – but he found her hologrammatic presence wrenched the need for a respectful term of address from his CPU. "It may take several hours, but I'm sure I could cross-reference our flight history from the navigation files on Starbug and – "

"Sector 32 – 67', 42', 101'."

With the shock that would inevitably follow hearing a 3-year-old suddenly recite Shakespeare, the group's attention whipped across to the Cat who stared back at them in equal surprise.

"Next to that wibbly, swirly thing," he added less certainly, clarifying his vague description of universe phenomenon with a twirl of his finger.

The group blinked twice.

"What?" he yowled in defence. In the stunned silence that followed, he leant to Lister in a whisper, the accompanying volume less-than-subtle. "I was kinda hoping we could head back there and pick up that mighty fine Blerion silk scarf I was showing you." He punctuated his plea with a winning double tug of the eyebrows.

With a roll of the eyes, Lister's gaze settled on the hologram stood wordlessly in the corner. He realised that Rimmer hadn't said anything for quite some time. In fact, with all the revelations of the past few minutes, he seemed to have retreated into a strange, unreadable silence.

With a long and protracted sigh, Lister gestured to him with a tilt of the head, as if to reel him back into the conversation. "So?" he prompted.

Hazel eyes searched the deck. "It was a Blerion."

"You what?"

Rimmer cleared his throat, his voice so shaken and creaky that it sounded like he hadn't used it in five years, let alone five minutes. "So, it was a Blerion prophecy?" he mumbled in clarification. The question itself, however, sank into the realms of resigned dread as his gaze wandered elsewhere. "A Blerion told you this was going to happen."

"Those cat GELFs?" Lister shrugged loosely as he recalled the fortune-teller's feline appearance. "Well, yeah." At Rimmer's continued silence, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the riddle. "Why? What does that mean?"

Rimmer barely registered the question. Instead, he continued to blink unsteadily as his mind meandered into the realms of dusty memories.

Blerions. A highly spiritual GELF race, who – under Tonga's unwavering guidance - had spent almost five months training him in the arts of combat and heightened mental control.

A GELF race whose gifts of foresight and prophecy were renowned and feared in equal measure across the universe. Indeed, the Karahe o Whakaata – the Mirror of Reflection - that sat in the great hall of the temple had already prophesised his fate. A fate that he'd been rather keen to forget. A fate that had shaken him so deeply, he'd refused to even divulge it to Rose.

But both halves of their prophecy - the part entrusted to Lister, and the part he'd been shown in the mirror - had finally slotted together into place. And now, it seemed, the clock had officially started ticking.

Rimmer swallowed, his throat sandpaper dry. "It means," he explained, fear seeping through the cracks of his voice, "that your 'Crap Creek' scenario analysis might be more accurate than I'd first given it credit for."


	9. A Simulant Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my little Evie bug who arrived safely at 2:33am on 26th October 2011. Mummy loves you very much.

Watching the tiny, white ‘blob’ pulse chirpily across the scanner scope, Pizzak ’Rapp could only surmise, with a sneer of contempt, that holograms were indeed idiots.

An arrogant species never checks over its shoulder, he thought to himself. Probably why the SS Occassus was breezing along at a steady pace, blissfully unaware of the electronic eyes that were silently watching them.

Ironic, then, that simulants were also a species universally-renowned for their arrogance. But an arrogant race is invariably an ignorant race, and Pizzak was in no mind to accept that description of his proud people. In fact, any species that had previously dared to intimate such a claim had been swiftly wiped off the face of the cosmos before the insult could be so much as retracted with a polite cough.

Come to think of it, that was another trait both holograms and simulants shared. Short tempers.

Which is probably the main reason why the war between their races had dragged on for so long. Shame, really. If both sides had been patient enough to sit down over a pot of tea and some Jammy Dodgers and spend just five minutes settling their differences, they may very well have discovered that there were none after all.

Even the legendary Ace Rimmer - the multi-verses’ answer to an Agony Aunt - had grown tired of playing referee in their squabbles. Instead, the adventurer had been relegated to tidying up the mess afterwards, coming to the rescue of the poor, innocent species who became caught up in the destruction that their battles left behind.

In the last decade or so, he’d only deigned to step in once. And that particular debacle had resulted in one stolen Jadestone and a crew of vengeful simulants who had hounded Ace for almost ten years in order to secure its return.

It had been a violent and relentless pursuit. One that had destroyed them all in the end.

But unlike his alternative counterpart, the Pizzak native to this dimension had reverted to a far different approach in his hunt for the hero. His humiliating defeat in the battle for Filitus 12 almost two years previously had brought out a far darker and more sinister need for revenge. Instead of wasting energy on the chase, he was far more content to weave a web and wait - still, silent and patient - until his nemesis walked right into his trap. An unsuspecting little fly helplessly entangled in his clutches.

Indeed, Ace Rimmer had been the main inspiration behind the conception of the holovirus that had thus far crippled the crew of the SS Occassus. The destruction and removal of the holograms’ best soldiers had merely proven to be a helpful bi-product. Once the virus had claimed its intended victim, Pizzak’s long wait would be rewarded not only with the destruction of his arch-enemy, but the resulting creation of the most dangerous weapon the universe had ever witnessed.

And much to Pizzak’s delight, they’d struck lucky a few days previously when records from the derelict SS Constantine showed that the virus had been successfully downloaded into a hologrammatic being registered as ‘Rimmer’. The celebration on the SS Orion had spared no expense, resplendent with party blowers and those little cocktail umbrellas that had been gathering dust in the back of the galley cupboard.

But it seemed that the champagne had been cracked open a tad prematurely. During their subsequent surveillance of the SS Occassus, they’d picked up dribs and drabs of information that seemed to suggest that, for some strange reason, Ace Rimmer no longer had any recollection of who he was. Too much brain-power spent working on his hair-do, perhaps.

And worse still, the legend of Ace continued to live on in the form of another hologram, ensuring that the universe suffered no interruption in service when it came to smug-gittery.

The holovirus had infected Ace Rimmer. Just not the right one. The hero had slipped the net, leaving the dud pathetically entangled in their trap.

Needless to say, Pizzak was not overly amused.

The simulant snarled over his shoulder, jagged teeth bared. “You’d better have some better news for me, M’Aiden,” he snapped. His face clouded as he turned back to the dashboard, metallic claw-like nails dragging a squealing path down its surface. “An update that doesn’t make me want to test out our new laser cannons on the nearest populated planetoid.”

M’Aiden’s eyes trailed through the readouts that poured through from the hacked black box of the Occassus. “It seems that the holograms intend to repair the poor bugger’s memory files,” he recounted. A thoughtful finger tapped against his lips before a grin as garish as Blackpool Illuminations slid out from behind it. “We might not have missed the proverbial boat after all.”

Pizzak blinked his surprise, mentally unpacking the party balloons once more. “You’re certain?”

“Oh, yes.” M’Aiden glanced up, an oily grey tongue snaking out, unawares. “Once their systems restore his memories, the holovirus will have full access to everything it needs.” The simulant chuckled with delight. “Not long until you’ve got yourself a little apprentice there, my friend.”

“Excellent,” Pizzak breathed, turning back to the scanner scope to survey the white ‘blob’ once more. “Because I have a rather long ‘to-do’ list for the - ” he paused, a thin smile stretching across his face, “ - ever-charitable Ace Rimmer.”


	10. Severed Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, dear readers. Hope 2012 brings you everything you want.

“So let me get this straight,” Rimmer sighed for the fourth time that morning. “On the one hand, we have a man with a proven track record in dealing with intergalactic hostage situations. And on the other, we have a man who couldn’t negotiate his way out of a can of lager.” He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. “Now, remind me again why you think I should stay and you should go?”

Crawling his way through the dark ducts of the SS Occassus, Lister scowled at the memory. His brain had fished through a thousand and one reasons why, but refused to pin a single one down. Maybe because he wanted to prove to the haughty hologram that he wasn’t the only one who had changed over the last two years. Or perhaps because he had a horrible suspicion that Rimmer and Kris would appreciate some free ‘bunk-up’ time.

“Because it’s my fault we’re in this mess,” he’d confessed, face grim. “If I’dve been straight with Rimmer from the start - told him the truth about who he was when he asked me straight out - none of this would’ve happened.”

Rose’s face bunched in sympathy. “That’s not true,” she reassured. “In Ace’s game, retirement is always a far more dangerous end than dying. If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me for letting it happen.”

“Excellent, good to know.” Rimmer folded his arms, eyebrow raised. “I feel comforted by the prospect that my job will eventually be terminated with my P45 tacked to my coffin.”

“Rimmer, I’m serious. You’ve gotta stay,” Lister implored. “Getting ‘im back is gonna be too risky for the likes of Kris to tag along.” He grimaced. “Let’s face it. This jaunt’s gonna be about as safe for a woman as a night at the Bates’ Motel.”

Sensing Rimmer’s wavering uncertainty, Lister shot him a meaningful look. If the smegger had laid claim to Kochanski, he damn well needed to keep to the responsibilities that came with it.

“I need you to stay and look after her, man,” he said, voice low with sad resignation.

Lister shuffled through the darkness, blindly feeling out his route. An enlightened 23rd Century guy he may be, but he was a traditionalist at heart. Near-suicidal rescue missions were no place for a lady.

“David Lister, that is the second time that your arm has ‘accidentally’ brushed against my bottom.” Despite the cramped conditions, Nirvanah still craned back over her shoulder to shoot him a reproachful frown. “Please ensure it’s the last.”

Fine - almost any lady. Women who were already dead didn’t count.

“Pardonez-moi,” he offered sarcastically, his Scouse accent snagging on each perfectly-crafted French syllable. “But believe it or not, I don’t really enjoy squeezing up against yer, y’know.” Swallowing back the lump of claustrophobia that sat thick in his throat, he blinked at his words. “Part of me feels like I may regret sayin’ that later.”

“Well I’m afraid we have little choice,” Nirvanah sniped back. “I’ve been locked out of the ship’s access codes and my profile has been logged as ‘arrest on sight’.” She heaved a sigh. “The only hope we have of getting into this godforsaken ship is sneaking in through the back door, so to speak.”

Pulling out the electronic mapping device from her pocket, she regarded it carefully. “Only a few hundred feet further starboard and we’ll reach the Hologram Simulation Suite.” She shook her head, her features set firm. “It’s bound to be where they’re holding Arnie captive.”

“Only a few hundred feet,” Lister echoed weakly.

With a visible shudder, he glanced back to the screeching sounds of metal on metal that echoed in the distant darkness. It seemed that the duct was proving a tad small for the mechanoid’s broad shoulders.

“How you doin’ back there, Krytes?” he called.

“Oh absolutely peachy, sir,” came the chirpy, echoed reply. “Rest assured, although on first glance it may appear to be a botch-job, I’ve successfully managed to detach and re-attach my arms on at least two previous occasions in my run-time.” There was a doubting pause. “And if all else fails, I did bring along my instruction manual for your perusal.”

Lister closed his eyes and adopted the relaxation techniques the hapless mechanoid had once taught him. If he was going to meet his maker this way, he was at least semi-grateful his head would lay to rest on a woman’s arse.

“Trust me, Mr Lister. Third time is certainly not the charm.”

******

The sweat stood out cold on Rimmer’s brow, sliding round the electrodes strapped to his temples.

The numerous voices were muffled beyond the thick glass of the chamber that held him, but he clearly understood their intent. This was - as they say - it. The last dribbles of doubt that this was all some kind of sick joke were currently gurgling noisily down Satan’s own plug-hole.

Rimmer tried to swallow back the ticklingly hot lump of panic that was clawing up his throat. The premise that he had once been Ace was now frighteningly plausible, and yet he wasn’t sure which unnerved him more. How or why he’d forgotten something so huge? Or the niggling thought that Lister had known the truth all along.

Increasingly desperate, he rapped fervently on the glass, trying to snare someone’s attention.

“Erm - hello?” He blinked at the timid voice that squeaked forth in place of the authoritative confidence he’d been aiming for. “I - uh - ” He licked away dry lips. “I was rather hoping that perhaps I could first exercise my right to consultation with the top point of authority as per Section 495? Maybe?”

Deep down, he knew that the crew would be as receptive to the detailing of Space Corps Directives as Lister during an ear-bleeding guitar session. But he couldn’t help but wonder why their behemoth of a Captain - who had once been watching over the preparation proceedings with the glee of a Cheshire cat - was now so conspicuously absent. Some lower-ranked minion had scuttled in some five minutes earlier, nervously calling him to some urgent business in the Drive Room. And now Rimmer’s silent hope that his absence would halt proceedings had been quashed with all the force of a fly underneath that morning’s rolled-up newspaper.

He smiled winningly - a rarely-used expression that was still brushing off moth balls as it was dragged forth, unprepared, into conscripted service. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement,” he smarmed. “Perhaps over some tea and - ?”

CRRRRREAAAAAAAAKKKK

Rimmer’s eyes slowly tracked up to the strange, strained noise overhead, his polite offer flailing. “ - biscuits of some descrip-- ?”

CCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKK

“ --tion?”

A series of loud CLANGS sounded from the ceiling across the suite, snatching the attention of the crew. There was a tantalising pause before a long stretch of overhead panels crashed to the floor as an entire section of service duct pierced through the ceiling, splitting neatly in two. Two squealing figures - one limb-challenged mechanoid and a short, dumpy human clad in leather - plummeted to the deck, the mangled metallic remains of the duct following in quick, clattering succession.

Rimmer blinked twice in shock as Lister glanced up and stared out across the room - eyes wide like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Everyone in the room, equally flummoxed, stared back.

Silence held the suite in an icy grasp. An awkward cough sounded from one of the console operators somewhere near the back of the room.

Eventually, Kryten proffered a gesturing shrug, smiling brightly. “I don’t suppose I could borrow a screwdriver, sirs?” he probed.

The slap of Nirvanah’s palm against her H-emblazoned forehead was audible even from the dark depths of the open duct above.

******

“You’re absolutely sure?”

Rose’s brilliant mind calculated that she had precisely 1,452 smart-arse replies to that particular question. Yet she plumped for an old favourite nonetheless.

“No,” she huffed. “I thought I’d just tell you that the scanner scope had picked up on a simulant vessel heading towards the Occassus for a laugh.” She thrust her hands on her hips, mirroring his trade-mark scowl. “Of course I’m bloody sure!”

Rimmer swallowed. “And we definitely can’t get a message to them to abandon ship and get the hell out of there?”

“Their comms link is down,” Rose sighed. “Probably interference from the Occassus’s own communications wavelengths.” She sauntered back into the cockpit, calling over her shoulder. “Unless anyone’s got a carrier pigeon or is fantastic at long-distance semaphore, then we’re kinda screwed.”

Rimmer’s eyes darted right and left as they searched the deck, clearly torn. On the one hand, if he left Kochanski to warn Lister and the others about the incoming simulants, he was potentially putting her safety at risk.

But there was a flip side of this rather undesirable coin. If he stayed to protect Kochanski and left the Occassus defenceless, Lister and the others could be caught in the middle of a very nasty scuffle between the holograms and the simulants in their quibble over his predecessor.

For the last few minutes, Kochanski had been gnawing nervously at the tip of her thumb, silently worrying over Lister and what could befall him if left to the simulants’ rage. Yet the cogs in Rimmer’s mind were so audible, even she could hear them from across the mid-section.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured quietly. “You need to go. I know you want to.”

Rimmer shifted in agitation from one foot to the other. “It’s not that simple,” he exhaled. “It’s not just the simulants I’m not chummy with. The holograms aren’t exactly on my Christmas card list either.” He dismissed Kochanski’s puzzled look with a wave of the hand. “Politics,” he surmised, “with far too much boring history.”

Crossing to the table, he scuffed his boot against the grating of the deck. “It’s a moot point anyway,” he recalled reluctantly. “Lister told me to stay with you.”

His set tone intimated closure on the discussion. However, it clearly wasn’t a decision he agreed with, Kochanski realised with a sideways glance. She watched in amusement as Rimmer’s fingers twitched, drumming against his thigh as if to channel the energy that coursed within.

“Oh, please! Don’t give me that,” she snorted, dismissive eyes tracking him as he crossed to the doorway once more. “You’re only pacing up and down with a pout you could lay a table on because you’ve been told to stay indoors whilst the other boys get to play outside.”

Rimmer’s feathers visibly ruffled at her words but he said nothing in return. Good to know she still remembered how to push his buttons.

“If you want to go then go,” she pushed. Treating him to a raised eyebrow, Kochanski drew out the big guns. “Besides, since when did you ever do anything that Lister told you to do?” she prodded.

Although the sense of triumph bubbled under the surface, she kept the resulting ripples on her face to a minimum. She was dangling a carrot Rimmer couldn’t refuse and she knew it.

There was a moment of bemused silence as Rimmer simply stared back at her. The drumming paused thoughtfully, as if to allow him the stillness to consider her words, before a wicked grin spread across his face. Arnold had gone. Ace had returned.

“Rose - I better dash,” he called through to the cockpit, eyes still locked with hers. Rimmer tore away his gaze to swivel back to the table behind him and snatch up his gun belt. He snapped it on with a rather suspicious enthusiasm. “A rather important appointment has just popped up.”

The computer sprite quickly appeared in the doorway, grasping onto the frame so tightly she risked its warranty. “With the holograms?!” she cried despairingly before striding back into the mid-section to face him. “Ace, you’ve been dodging their forced recruitment drive for decades and now you’re planning on strolling through the front door?!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Rimmer drew forth a crude teleporter from his utility belt and began typing in commands, calibrating the necessary coordinates. “More like sneaking in through the back window, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m sure he’ll be careful, won’t you?” Kochanski prompted, realising that his sarcasm wouldn’t be the best way of reassuring the ever-twitchy computer.

Deliberately fiddling with the calibrations in feigned concentration, Rimmer offered nothing to confirm or deny the reassurance. It was a truth he daren’t utter out loud, even to himself. The thrill of this new life was so dangerously exhilarating that he sometimes wondered what the hell he was doing. Playing with fire was far too fun. It was like a drug he’d dabbled in at first but now couldn’t give up.

After all, if you knew how it was all going to end, you might as well enjoy the ride.

Unnerved by his silence, Kochanski swiftly continued. “And besides, if I’m supposedly in such desperate need of a nanny, you and Cat can stay behind with me - ” she glanced back over her shoulder to the faithful feline, “ - right?”

Not shifting from his reclined napping position in the swivel chair, the Cat peeled open a single, lazy eyelid. “No worries, Officer BB,” he replied smoothly. “As long as I don’t have to crease my suit, cut short any meals or interrupt my nap-time, then I can be at your beck and call.”

“Yeah, thanks Cat,” Kochanski replied flatly.

Rose’s critical gaze flitted between each of them in turn. Eventually, she turned back to face the hologram and sighed her relent. “For goodness sake, don’t let them catch you.”

Rimmer grinned. Her mother-hen-clucking was the closest he would get to a blessing. “Don’t fret, my dear,” he assured. Flipping back his gun, he snapped in a new magazine. “Should the need for negotiation arise, you know I can be most persuasive.” He loaded his gun with a less than subtle click.

Rose rolled her eyes, arms folded. “Something tells me you're not referring to your oral skills.”

She flashed him a reproachful eyebrow as Rimmer shoulder-bumped her playfully, a suggestive wink not far behind it. “I've never had any complaints about my -- ”

“Get gone!”


	11. Rimmer's Return: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2012 peeps! Hope you had a good Christmas/New Year. My husband just beta'd this chapter and concluded - 'It's good. How long did this chapter take you?' Answer - twenty months from original draft. TWENTY MONTHS - almost to the day! Ugh... Well I certainly hope it's been worth it, folks! ^_^
> 
> The full appreciation for this chapter probably relies rather heavily on part III of the Ace Chronicles - '124 Days'. So we'll kick off with a little flash back, shall we?
> 
> As always, many thanks to all of you who are continuing to follow this fic.

_There was a hush that hung thick in the air between them; a horribly muggy silence that Rimmer had to swallow before he even felt capable of speech._

_"He said you know my fate," he managed eventually. A pause, and then, "Is that what's going to happen to me?"_

_Tonga heaved a weary sigh. "What the mirror shows us isn't always literal. It might not come to pass," he offered gently._

_Rimmer brushed a light hand against the mirror's surface before letting it fall into his lap once more. The glass was cold._

_In the quiet that followed, Tonga dipped his head low so that his face was obscured in shadow, as if contemplating something, before regarding Rimmer in the mirror once more._

" _Sometimes our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate," he explained quietly. "Sometimes our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."_

**\- Chapter 4: Month Three, '124 Days', The Ace Chronicles**

* * *

Science Officer McCloud was not a happy camper. In fact, he'd had the week from Satan's own Filofax.

Following his virus scan screw-up earlier in the week, he'd almost been ejected from the company. Through the nearest airlock. Suffice to say he didn't have the most understanding of bosses.

He had to get back into Viktoras's good books and fast. A tall order when Viktoras's good books were often locked in the basement of a library. Based in Guam. Surrounded by a moat of molten lava.

And if the pressure wasn't already enough, this armpit stain of a man seemed hell-bent on making his task a thousand times harder.

"Let me just make sure I'm understanding you correctly," he demanded, less-than-patient. "You break onto this vessel without invitation or a valid pass, destroy the infrastructure to our Hologram Simulation Suite causing incalculable damage, and you insist that I _listen_ to you?"

Lister bit his lip, a limp shrug not far behind it. He had to admit, it sounded worse when the guy summed it up like that.

McCloud scowled in annoyance, sending his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up into place with a long finger. "Well, I can hardly argue with a reasoning as articulate as that," he sniffed.

Seeing Rimmer held captive in such a cold, clinical environment - trapped behind glass like a rare butterfly specimen - was enough to send the bile rising in Nirvanah's throat. It was an aggressively protective urge she'd never felt before, and it soon found its voice.

"Course not," she spat. "After all, I've heard that you're a man who has a way with words." Her lip curled in disgust. "Saying whatever's necessary to brown-tongue your way up the ranks."

McCloud's lanky form stiffened visibly. He glared down at her petite frame. "Commander Crane, I think you'll find that there's a warrant on the system for your immediate arrest." He jutted his chin in what he hoped would be an authoritative manner. "And I'm sure you know all too well that protocol demands - "

"Oh, screw protocol!" Nirvanah snapped back, her flippancy surprising even herself. She'd become increasingly disillusioned with the holograms' penchant for petty arrogance and was rapidly losing patience for it. "If you wish to have any hope of surviving your shift, I'd suggest you listen to what he has to say."

McCloud's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me, Commander?"

"She isn't," Lister cut in. Craning to see over the Officer's tall shoulder, he nodded at the glass chamber. "But he is."

Rimmer couldn't quite make out their muffled conversation beyond the glass, but his resulting bemused expression clearly inspired mocking glee in the Science Officer before him.

"Are you serious?" McCloud snorted as he turned back to face them, lanky arms folding in amusement. "He looks as intimidating as a bunny rabbit wearing a ribbon embroidered with the word 'Boo'."

"Listen, I know he doesn't exactly look like he's capable of anything now," Lister pressed. "But trust me. If you unlock those memory files, you're gonna wish you'dve pulled a sicky this mornin'."

Lister squirmed under the weight of McCloud's derisive eyebrow. Problem was, he didn't know exactly _how_ Rimmer was going to pose a threat to them all. For all he knew, the smegger could draw forth the Space Corps Directives Manual and bore them all to death. But somehow, he got the sense that the soothsayer would have been a little less concerned about warning him of such a mundane scenario.

A persistent buzzer sounded from the comms console behind McCloud who heaved a sigh of relief at its welcome interruption.

"Enough of this tot," he huffed. The hologram gestured in irritable indication to the officer at the main control panel as he strode back to scoop up the receiver. "Begin Mr Rimmer's virus scan. We need to get this show on the road. "

Nirvanah strained to listen as McCloud conducted his radio conversation in hushed tones. A softness that could have been mistaken for the delicacy with which one whispers to a lover. She shuddered. If the speaker in question didn't have the sexual appeal of a pubic louse.

She felt the subtle dig from Lister's elbow and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Virus scan?" he hissed.

The redhead glanced up from under dark eyelashes at McCloud's back before flitting back to Lister. "The _Occassus_ was recently plagued by a holovirus that was picked up on a derelict scouting mission," she whispered. "Supposedly of simulant concoction."

She paused quickly as McCloud half-turned back to them. His own whispered conversation seemed to be becoming more agitated and urgent.

"According to rumours amongst the crew, they lost five of their best men to it," Nivanah continued. "Reports suggested that the virus completely changed them. Rendered them so vengeful and murderous that they even turned on their fellow crewmates." She shook her head sadly. "Probably the reason that they're being so cautious with any new holograms coming aboard."

Lister opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw could offer nothing but a loose silence in response. The cold weight that had sat on his shoulders since he'd first heard the prophecy now began to sink down the back of his neck like melting ice. Slow, relentless and chilling.

What if Kryten's suspicions had been bang on? That Rimmer's increasingly odd behaviour hadn't been caused by a file corruption issue, but a holovirus. A simulant-created holovirus.

_He must not be allowed to return. Or he'll be consumed by darkness and destroy everyone and everything in his path._

A simulant-created holovirus that had been trying to needle its way into Rimmer's locked 'Ace' memory files for several days now.

Lister glanced across to the line of technicians at the control panel, blinking unsteadily as they pummelled away at their keyboards.

The holograms weren't just going to _risk_ the virus breaking into those files. They were going to open the door, invite it in and stick the bloody kettle on.

Smeg. With a fresh dollop of smeg on top and an extra order of smeg on the side.

"Code red! I repeat, code red!" McCloud suddenly blurted out to the room, thrusting down the receiver. It missed the hook by a good five inches and fell to hang, lifeless, by its cord. "Simulant craft sighted approximately 20 clicks away!"

Securing the last screw attachment of his shoulder joint into place, Kryten glanced up happily to share the success of his DIY attempt with the others. However, his plastic features soon fell as he took in the chaos that now took hold of the room; holograms scrabbling in all directions to prepare the ship's systems for battle.

"Simulants?" Nirvanah grimaced. It had only been a matter of time before petty recriminations threatened to nip them in the derriere. "Ugh, perfect timing - "

"I'm afraid it is, ma'am," Kryten uttered quietly, rotating his re-attached arm in experimental assessment. At her look of confusion, he elaborated. "Simulants may be as aggressive as the stains on Mr Lister's gussets after curry night, but they are certainly not fools." He nodded in distant comprehension. "They always select their timings most wisely."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, ma'am, that they're not attacking."

Nirvanah watched as the mechanoid's neon-blue eyes flitted about the walls in indication. He was right. Despite the wails of the emergency sirens, there was no audible sign of laser fire against the ship's hull.

Kryten's face was suddenly grim. "They're waiting."

Dreadlocks danced from side to side across his back as Lister shook his head, confused. "Waiting for what - ?"

He stopped dead as the realisation slapped him round the face. The dreads gave their grand finale, leaping gracefully over his shoulder as Lister whipped back to the glass chamber. Rimmer stood in quivering silence, eyes reflecting his fear.

"Oh no - " he breathed.

"Status report, O'Brien!" McCloud barked, trying to snatch eye contact in between the various crewmembers that darted back and forth between them. "Do we have the all-clear for the file unlock?"

Eyes as green as his native homeland flitted over the reams of data that streamed before him. "Virus scan comes up clean, sir!" O'Brien chirped, his Dublin accent strong. "Ready when you are."

No. Lister shook his head but the word refused to escape. No, this couldn't happen.

McCloud nodded his gratitude, pushing up stray glasses once more. At least there'd be no more cock-ups on his shift, he thought to himself as he began typing away furiously at his keyboard. "Preparing for memory download!"

"No!" The cry finally found its release as Lister scrabbled across to join McCloud at the console. "The virus scan is wrong!"

McCloud's lofty hand batted away the warning, like a fly he could barely be bothered to swat at. "Will someone get him out of here?" he sighed. "He's really beginning to test my patience."

As two burly security guards closed in, Lister pressed on hurriedly. "You don't understand!" he pleaded. "He's been showing all the early signs of a holovirus. Memory loss, funny turns, you name it."

"Absurd," McCloud snorted. "Our scans have just showed up clean."

Kryten quickly joined them. "It's a sentient virus, sir. Highly intelligent," he explained. "Indeed, we too were given the same result from our own virus scan. But it's quite plausible that the virus has been lying dormant in Mr Rimmer's memory files, only exploring new pathways in his core programme when we weren't scanning for it."

"It's true," Lister implored. "He may look like a weedy smegger now, but the virus knows that there's a goldmine of potential locked away in there from his time as Ace."

Bear-like arms secured a tight grip around his chest and Lister struggled to free his arms. "For smeg's sake, if you unlock the Ace files you'll give the virus exactly what it wants!"

McCloud growled audibly. "The simulants are practically on our doorstep, threatening to destroy us all and HE," the hologram thrust a finger at Rimmer's look of confused panic, "harbours the capability to become our main defence weapon!" McCloud's face hardened with resolve. "I don't have time for this - "

Lister threw back his entire bodyweight, kicking out his boots in desperation. "No, man, don't!"

McCloud hit 'Return'.

The effect was almost immediate. Rimmer cried out in agony, wrenching his hands back from the glass to press hard against his ears; a desperate attempt to block out a million voices screaming out to him in hundreds of languages, all at once. A ten-year rush of images and sounds blasted through his mind like a tidal wave, smashing through everything he'd once known with little regard for the damage it would leave behind.

Rimmer blinked quickly as he fought to suck in air, vision pulsing. The rush had now slowed enough to snatch hold of individual memories.

_Sprawled on his back to soar on a drug-fuelled high with the Kinitowawi, revelling in the warmth of the roaring fire and the laughter between them._

_Screwing Sayura, fast and furious. His chest heaving hot in exhilaration at the inter-species experimentation and the risk of being caught. Her husband could be home any minute…_

_The crowds of Galactic Bazaar parting in reverence to let him through as he strode through the streets, eight simulants lying defeated in his wake._

"It's true," Rimmer gasped to himself. "It's all true - " A jet of air snorted down cavernous nostrils as he tried to straighten once more, tangled in a disconcerting web of disbelief and pride. The rush felt far superior to his dream of becoming an officer. He was a _hero_.

Oh, yes. Such were the glory moments of playing the part of the legendary Ace Rimmer.

But watching and waiting in the wings of this theatrical production, the virus had no interest in such frivolity. Instead, it probed on until snagging on something most intriguing. A half-forgotten line of script that still seemed branded in the dark shadows of the hologram's mind.

_Ten months, three weeks, four days. One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two._

Rimmer blinked in shock, an involuntary shudder worming its way through his body.

_Ten months, three weeks, four days. One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two._

Oh, god. He could hear their screams. Their faces were haunting.

 _One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two._ The lives that had been lost on the _Exodus Colony_. Because of him.

 _Ten months, three weeks, four days._ His time in purgatory. The relentless, destructive self-punishment for not saving them.

The realisation sank through his very being and thudded to the pit of his stomach, its intensity almost unbearable.

"I'm so sorry," Rimmer mumbled, jaw trembling uncontrollably. "I tried. I tried so hard - "

The virus ploughed on hungrily, gorging wildly on this feast of negativity. Savouring the anger and the self-loathing until it snagged on something equally delicious. The memory of a man's face.

Still locked in the guard's grasp, Lister could see the face just as clearly on the monitors above them. He'd been struggling to comprehend the furious flicker of images as the memory visuals relentlessly uploaded, yet now they focused intensely on this one man. Not much younger than him, his wheat-coloured hair and clear green eyes looked disconcertingly familiar.

He glanced back to the chamber as Rimmer thumped angrily on the glass between them. His image was beginning to corrupt at the edges, flickering furiously as it flitted between brown curls and blonde locks.

"Liar!" he howled, eyes balanced with tears yet flaring with accusation. "You promised you wouldn't let me forget him!" Sobs now wracking his chest, he pressed his forehead into the glass with such vindictive force, Lister swore it could shatter. "How could you let me forget him?"

Lister shook his head, confused. "Forget who?" he cried out over the alarm's din.

His head threatened to explode with the guilt. His own son. How could he forget his own son?

"Rimmer, forget who?"

"Forget the bloody interrogation!" McCloud snapped. "He needs to concentrate on recalling his battle skills and fast." He pushed up his wayward glasses once more and gestured to the guard restraining Lister. "Seriously, why isn't he in the brig yet? Somewhere where he can bore the walls with his incessant interruptions?"

O'Brien swallowed, throat suddenly sandpaper-dry. The reams of text from the memory download were becoming more frantic and distorted. "Erm, McCloud, sir - ?" he probed.

Rimmer glanced up shakily. The grey, hooded figure stood amongst the crowd, unnoticed. He'd appeared precisely when he'd meant to. And some part of him knew that he was already expecting his arrival.

Hands still pressed to the glass, Rimmer watched wordlessly as the figure approached; apprehensive in its step but with determined purpose. Transfixed, he froze as it stood before him, pausing for a moment before reaching up to draw back its hood. The face was now free to stare at him in wordless awe.

It was himself.

And in that surreal, paradoxical moment, he remembered. Rimmer almost gagged. He _remembered_.

Tonga. Blerios 5. He remembered it all; images and sensations now tumbling on top of him.

_The markets, the temple, the heat, the sand, the sweat, the training, the pain, the fights, the falls, the mirror…._

He fought to breathe, his mind catching on the last memory like the needle skipping on a record player.

_The mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror…_

"McCloud, sir?" O'Brien muttered, more insistently now. His eyes refused to tear away from the screen. "I think something's wrong - "

Rimmer struggled to swallow. This was it. This is what he'd seen all those years ago. His terrifying fate laid bare before him in the guise of a dark and twisted image of his future self.

The mirror's prophecy was coming true. Now, he _was_ the reflection.

And having found exactly what it was after, the virus finally showed its face.

Rimmer's mind suddenly seemed to explode with a blast of black stars that faded just as quickly, leaving behind a sparkle of tingles that felt bitterly cold. It was too strange a sensation to put into words, but something deep down - probably the core part of his electronic being - knew that something was incredibly wrong.

Trembling fingers scrabbled desperately to tear off the electrodes once fastened to his temples. But the damage had already been done.

Rimmer shuddered as the strangle tingles started needling throughout his body. Letting the electrodes drop to the floor, he held out his arms in inspection. An icy chill crept up his spine as he watched the shimmering blue material of his sleeves stain a sinister shade of black. As if the darkness he could feel in his mind was seeping through his clothing, his very image bleeding shadow.

There was nothing human about the _thing_ he could feel crawling through his system; overriding every file, memory, and electrode it could find. He could sense it feeding and thriving on every base thought, every dark memory, every negative emotion that peppered his psyche, deleting everything it deemed to be worthless.

Friendship. Forgotten.

Love. Erased.

Mercy. Obliterated.

The pain was overwhelming, writhing through his body showing little clemency. With distressed static rattling his mind, Rimmer fought to stay calm. He had to concentrate. He had to stay focused on remembering who he was. He had to... He had to…

Ooh. This was beginning to feel rather _good._

A haunting exhale channelled through him as Rimmer bathed in the exhilarating rush that this new-found freedom was slowly bestowing upon him. His eyes peeled open, snorting with derision at the scene before him. Did these holograms truly think that they could harness his abilities? Reduce him to nothing but a pawn in their squabbling war against the simulants? Pitiful.

He was single-handedly accomplished at overthrowing dictators and defeating empires. Once they knew what he was capable of, they'd be trembling at his very name. Oh, he'd be sure to make them pay for this humiliation. Rimmer's face darkened. He'd make them _all_ pay.

He stifled a menacing giggle at the sea of panicked faces that stared back at him through the glass, barking muffled orders to one another. By the time he was finished with them, their pathetic Captain would despair at the devastation left in his wake; hardly recognise what was _left_ of them, and _oh god_ -

Wrenching himself back to reality with a gasp, the last of his conscious mind struggled to be heard over the mess of violent ranting that seemed hell-bent on overwhelming him. And in a sickening instant - a collaboration of prophecy and gut instinct - he realised what the virus was about to make him do.

Lister's head jerked up to see Rimmer frantically hammering on the glass with his fists. His entire being seemed to be shaking with the effort, eyes red-rimmed with desperation.

"Help!" he wailed in a voice strangled by the glass that separated them. "Lister, help me - !"

With the security guard somewhat distracted, Lister was free to race across to join him. His chest pounded, fuelled with the adrenaline that was torn between fight and flight.

"For smeg's sake stay calm, man," he asserted, although his own voice stumbled in fear. Lister gestured with a trembling thumb over his shoulder at the chaos behind him. "They're sortin' it all out for yer," he reassured, forcing his chirpy optimism to take the helm. "Technical hitch, that's all."

He shuddered at the blackness that had bled into Rimmer's now-flickering image. "Half a mo and you'll be back to normal. You'll see."

"Lister," he pleaded, "please, get me out - " In a single blink, his eyes dilated so full and dark, they looked horrifyingly reminiscent of a shark on the hunt. " _\- so that I can tear you limb from limb -_ " he snarled, his voice almost unrecognisable.

Lister scrabbled back in shock at the sudden violent turn before hazel eyes blinked back once more. Eyes lost and shaken as they stared back, wide.

Gone was the pride. Gone was the starched self-awareness that prevented such public displays of weakness. Stripped of such protective formalities, the underneath was left exposed. Pure, raw fear seeping through.

"I'm scared - " Rimmer sobbed. "Lister, I'm really scared."

Lister swallowed hard as his fingers curled back to form white-knuckled fists. He remembered all too well how dangerously unstable Rimmer had become when he'd been infected by Landstrom's holovirus all those years ago. And he certainly wasn't prepared to be in the close vicinity when this virus unleashed its violent, murderous streak in the hapless hologram before him.

Unable to tear away his gaze from the darkness that began to flicker uncontrollably in Rimmer's eyes, Lister backed away slowly, fumbling blindly for Nirvanah's arm.

"We have to go," he mumbled, feeling a sickening churn in his stomach.

Still pummelling urgently at the keyboard before her, Nirvanah shrugged off his grasp. With the crew snared by panicked awe, she'd begun desperately trying to override the seemingly irreversible process.

"No!" she cried. "Not without him!"

" _Trust_ me," Lister insisted, grasping her by the shoulders and hauling her back bodily from the console. "This won't end well."

"But, sir - "

"Now, Kryten! Now!"

They ran, weaving through the smattering of hologrammatic statues that stared, motionless. All sense of panic and desperation in the room had dissipated. Now they were all transfixed by Rimmer's strangled cries as the virus ravaged his system, ensnared by an infectious sense of morbid fascination. Staring death in the face like a long-lost acquaintance.

Clinging desperately to consciousness and clawing for air he didn't need, Rimmer watched through the strange distortions of the glass as the trio scrabbled for their escape.

"Please don't leave - " he begged.

His chest whimpered a sad and fearful sense of detachment as they fumbled out of the door; an ache of negativity that proved to be the final weight the virus needed to tip the balance and end the struggle. And in the twitching blink of an eye, his mind seemed to give one last sharp spasm. The blackness crept into the edges of his vision sending everything bitterly cold and hazy.

The holograms watched as Rimmer sunk to his knees, shuddering uncontrollably as a lost hand streaked a downward path against the glass. In stark contrast to the panicked flailing and cries for help, he now fell still and motionless, the echoes of his desperate sobs now dying away into eerie silence. No-one dared speak, the air between them only sounding the eternal loop of crackling static from the monitors above.

Steeling himself, McCloud gingerly picked up the mic to the chamber's tannoy. "Mr Rimmer? Can you hear me?" he ventured.

Rimmer didn't seem to hear the question. He hadn't even flinched. McCloud exchanged a quick glance with the technician to his right who gave nothing but a loose shrug.

He'd almost raised the mic to his lips to repeat the question when Rimmer finally spoke. Gone were the once nasal notes of his old self. His voice was now corrupted with an edge of distorted feedback. Just like a simulant's.

" _I hear you wanted a murderer_ ," Rimmer stated darkly.

He slowly stood. Glancing up under wisps of hair to reveal eyes now black and dead, a smile crept along his pale face.

His attention shifted to the hand that still rested against the chamber that separated them. With barely a flicker of concentration, tiny splinters needled a network across the glass until they formed ugly great cracks.

And with a dismissive wave, it exploded. Shards of glass were cast out in a deadly blast that swept up the holograms as if they were mere leaves in the wind, hurling them back against the far wall.

As the shattered glass tumbling to the floor, silence descended once more. He stepped out of the destroyed chamber, boots crunching across the littered ground. With barely-contained glee, Rimmer surveyed the devastation around him. A lion regarding his cowering prey.

" _I'll give you a murderer._ "

McCloud licked away dry lips. Seconds before he died - _again_ \- he resigned himself to the fact that at least his week couldn't get any worse.


	12. The Forgotten

Pizzak ‘Rapp turned up the volume dial on the console and sank luxuriously deeper into the leather of his captain’s chair. Ace’s now-hijacked audio feed was proffering some wondrous delights to savour as he happily conducted the terrorised screams from the Occassus like the most elegant notes of classical music.   
  
“Ahh,” he sighed wistfully, inclining his head to a lazy angle so that he could snare M’Aiden’s attention. “The old ones are the best, don’t you think?”  
  
M’Aiden nodded sagely. “A composer of great promise, my friend.” Bionic fingers tapped idly across his keyboard in time to the leisurely rhythm. “Shall I beam him aboard now?”  
  
Eyes closed to savour this murderous melody, Pizzak waved a dismissive hand. “Let him have his fun for a while,” he snorted, amused. “After all, the poor bugger hasn’t enjoyed the pleasures of a good old-fashioned mass murder for so long.” He linked his fingers behind his head as the shrieks reached a crescendo of Proms-worthy proportions. “At least this time it’s directed at the right side.”   
  
A red blob pulsed into life on the long-range scanner scope. Clocking its presence, M’Aiden’s eyes narrowed in assessment.   
  
“Oh my,” he muttered, intrigued. “It seems that Ace Rimmers are like buses. If one comes along - ”  
  
Pizzak peeled open a wary eyelid. “ - then another shall follow?”  
  
“Not so much follow,” M’Aiden mused distantly as he studied the data his quick fingers conjured forth. Suddenly his lips stretched wide into a shark’s smile; a grin of razor-sharp teeth and less-than-hidden agendas. “But rather parked and abandoned on the double yellow lines.”   
  
Sitting up sharply, Pizzak’s eyes flitted across the screen before focusing intently on the immobile, flashing blob. Inspired merriment lit up his features.   
  
“Oh, how careless,” he chuckled darkly. Glancing up to M’Aiden, he rubbed his hands with glee. “I rather fancy a quick shopping spree whilst we wait for our newest crewmember to join us.” The simulant arched an inviting eyebrow. “Don’t you?”  
  
  
******  
  
The gun’s sightless stare inched out from behind the doorway, a pair of hazel eyes soon sliding out to join it. Spotting nothing, the hologram stalked cautiously down the new stretch of corridor, trying to keep his booted footsteps as light as possible.  
  
Gun still trained in readiness, Rimmer snatched a glance down at the psi-scan fastened to his wrist. He could see a collective of life forms gathered in the stock room ahead on his right - a menagerie of hologrammatic, mechanical and human. Most likely the ragtail bunch he was after.  
  
But the thing that was unnerving him - making his trigger finger itch like a weightlifter’s jockstrap - was the rogue reading that seemed to flit in and out of focus on the tiny screen. Flashing at different compass points in the corridors surrounding him - like some surreal, intimidating game of Pac-Man.  
  
Stealing a final glance over his shoulder as he reached the door to the stock room, Rimmer re-holstered his gun and began to tap at the keypad. Unlike simulant vessels, security codes aboard Space Corps ships were fairly straightforward to crack. Invariably the six digit code matched the Captain’s birthday; and thanks to Rimmer’s newly-acquired hacking skills, the personal records on the _Occassus_ had been easier to get into than a Titan hookers’ crotchless panties.  
  
His finger paused, hovering over the final button. The beeping of his psi-scan was suddenly growing ever more rapid and urgent, and he lifted his wrist in inspection. The rogue reading had stalked him at an impossibly rapid speed, and was now approaching him from -   
  
Uh-oh.  
  
Rimmer’s head whipped back over his shoulder. A lone figure emerged from the shadows, regarding him silently.   
  
Two years of training took only seconds to drain from his memory and melt to a puddle around his boots. He’d confronted hordes of simulants, hostile GELFs, and armour-plated killing machines on a daily basis in this latest career choice, with barely a second thought. Yet panic rooted Rimmer to the spot as he stared at his own dark reflection; an image clearly corrupted by an aggressive and destructive holovirus.    
  
But it wasn’t his predecessor’s haunting image that frightened him most. It was the fact that he’d seen this reflection before. In the temple’s mirror back on Blerios 5.  
  
The dark face scowled, brandishing a hand towards him. Telekinetic energy danced across his long, lean fingers.   
  
“Bugger - ”  
  
******  
  
Smegging hell, he was so bloody unfit.   
  
Lister was still sucking in great lungfuls of air a full five minutes after the door to the stock room had slid shut behind them.   
  
He made a silent vow that when things got back to normal (well, as normal as you could get when you were the last man alive and stuck in deep space, three million years in the future) he was most definitely going to exercise twice a day and limit himself to one curry a week.  
  
Well, maybe exercise twice a week and limit himself to one curry a day.  
  
He sighed. It was times like these - when they were being chased by a murderous simulant/GELF/virus-ridden hologram (delete where appropriate) - that Lister really longed for the monotony of the empty days. The long, lazy afternoons spent on his bunk watching a Mugs Murphy cartoon, chomping on poppadoms and flicking the broken shards into the curls of Rimmer’s hair.  
  
Rimmer. He mopped his face with sweaty palms and groaned. The smegger had always been a coward ever since the day they’d met. From only daring to flash the two-fingered salute at Todhunter’s back, to cowering under _Starbug_ ’s scanner table with a colander on his head, Arnold J. Rimmer had always had a longer yellow streak than Oz’s yellow brick road.   
  
But something in Rimmer’s frank and unvarnished admission had really rattled him. He’d looked Lister straight in the eye, completely unabashed, and confessed that he was scared. A tickling shiver danced across his arms until the hairs stood to applaud it. Something in that confession felt raw enough to frighten him too.  
  
Lister glanced up. Head bowed and arms folded protectively around her, Nirvanah’s shoulders seemed to heave with a little more than the exertion of their hurried escape.  
  
“Hey,” he prodded verbally. “You okay?”  
  
Pressing the side of her palm underneath her lashes, Nirvanah shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said simply.  
  
Lister chewed his lip, sadly. He wanted to give her a reassuring hug, or a comforting pat on the shoulder of her overly-starched uniform, but something held him back. It were almost as if he could recognise the social awkwardness and stunted mistrust of others in this woman before him. A warm chuckle threatened to escape.   
  
“I can see why he loves yer.”  
  
Startled blue eyes met his before quickly giving him the once over. “I certainly hope, Mr Lister, that you’re not the type to gossip about such matters.” Her polished defences were solid enough, but he could see the grateful warmth radiating within.  
  
The Scouser snorted, amused. He could definitely see Rimmer in her.  
  
Lister blinked. Ew. That was not the metaphor he had in mind. He scrubbed away the mental image with industrial-strength bleach.    
  
“We’ll get him back,” Lister nodded, an eternally-optimistic grin tugging at his gerbil cheeks. “We will.”  
  
A small sapling of a smile grew from the corner of her mouth, and Lister nurtured it quickly. “Things always have a funny way of workin’ out in the end,” he assured. “All we need to do is get back to _Wildfire_ , get Ace and Rose to figure out a plan, and we’ll get things back to normal. You’ll see.”  
  
An almighty _clang_ sounded against the metal of the door. The trio whipped back to face it.  
  
“Or not.”  
  
 _Clang_.   
  
Needing no further encouragement, the group scrabbled back to the relative safety that the boxes could offer. Crouching behind the only defence they had, they winced visibly as another clang sounded at the door.  
  
“I think it’s Mr Rimmer, sir,” Kryten offered.  
  
Lister remained grim-faced. “Either that, or the Jehovah’s Witnesses are getting really smeggin’ pushy nowadays.”  
  
He steadied his breath as much as his heaving chest would allow. Of all the ways he’d pictured meeting his maker, being frazzled by a virus-corrupted resurrection of his dead bunk-mate certainly hadn’t made the top rankings. Death by sex as a hostage on the Planet of the Nymphomaniacs would have been preferable. In fact, he’d rather hoped that Cassandra’s ‘bra premonition’ would literally be his undoing.  
  
It was then that Lister realised that the room had fallen eerily silent. The ominous pounding at the door had stopped, as if to allow the dust of the quiet to settle for just a moment. He strained to listen beyond the door’s thickness, struggling to work out if the ravaged hologram had indeed given up the chase or was merely toying with them.  
  
Both options were blasted from Lister’s mind. More or less at the same time that the door made a similar implosion, closely followed by a catapulted figure squealing like a banshee. Indeed, the man flew at a rather impressive speed as he was thrown across the room by some unseen force, landing in a mangled heap on the floor amongst the torn remnants of the door’s metal.   
  
Lister’s initial shock quickly subsided into a disappointed sigh when he realised who it was. “Are you ever capable of an entrance that’s _subtle_?” he chided, slowly emerging from his hiding spot.  
  
Wig skew-whiff, the bedraggled form of Ace shakily drew himself to his feet. He regarded Lister rather unsteadily, trying to mask his shock with a trademark patronising glare.  
  
“Are you ever capable of an observation that’s _helpful_?” he sniped back.  
  
Lister’s face darkened as the hologram dusted down the broadness of his shoulders that the famous jacket offered him. The all-too-familiar heat of jealousy flared in his chest.   
  
“I thought you were supposed to be looking after Krissie,” he jabbed, his usually warm tone sharpened by the bubbling anger underneath. Like a slice of lemon spiking a cup of tea. “What happened? Got bored?”  
  
Rimmer blinked in confusion before his face tightened into a scowl instead. “Actually, it was Kris who suggested I come here to help you,” he bit back, gesturing to the doorway with a wobbly nod. “But then I bumped into an old friend of yours. One who seemed rather intent on fashioning me as a new door-knocker.” A derisive eyebrow tugged under the bangs of his wig. “I take it that your rescue mission was a bit of a balls-up?”   
  
Kryten tapped his master tentatively on the shoulder. “Mr Lister, sir - ?” the mechanoid mumbled awkwardly.  
  
Ignoring the interjection, Lister snorted away the dig. “Why? Already familiar with what a mission balls-ups looks like, are you?”  
  
Rimmer’s nose flared in characteristically cavernous annoyance. “Oh smeg off, you annoying, smegging - ”  
  
“Sirs - !”   
  
The pair’s bickering fell silent as the lights above them began to flicker and stutter in fear at the shadow now etched in the doorway. The very room seemed to quiver at his presence, the resonance of his telekinetic energy echoing across the walls.  
  
Nirvanah shrank back behind the crate at the tarantula pace of the man’s approach, frightened and ashamed. This couldn’t possibly be her Arnold. She could still feel the post-coital warmth of his chest as they lay entwined in one another’s embrace, giggling unashamedly at a shared joke.   
  
Now the awkward softness of his once-hazel eyes had completely hardened into soulless black, shadow smudging them against pale cheeks. She searched desperately for a flicker of recognition behind his cold stare. But any that remained was borne out of pure hatred for the mere echoes of lost memories stood before him.  
  
“Oh my god,” Rimmer gasped, his voice barely escaping as a controlled whisper. His eyes narrowed as they studied the murderous expression of his dark self. “Are my nostrils really that _big_?”  
  
The cavernous flare of his nasal cavity seemed to pale into insignificance as an invisible hand wrenched him off his feet until he hovered, suspended, in mid-air. Gritting his teeth, his entire image flickered uncontrollably under the painful buzzing pressure of the telekinetic grip.  
  
Nirvanah scrabbled to her feet, panicked. “Arnie, don’t!” she pleaded, straining against Kryten’s swift and protective grasp. “Let him go! Please!”  
  
Ignoring - or perhaps not registering - her pleas, Rimmer’s dark self scowled critically at his successor.   
  
“ _You truly believe that a pathetic specimen such as yourself is worthy of carrying the flame?_ ” he demanded, voice corrupted by more than just the virus. The force of the energy resonated outwards as his anger grew; waves that shook the stacks of boxes until they sang with buzzing fear. “ _Worthy of even speaking the name that I made so great?_ ”  
  
“Rimmer, he’s not tryin’ to replace yer,” Lister soothed, a gloved hand thrust forth to try and calm the rising storm of anger that was brewing in the virus-ravaged hologram before him. “Please,” he implored. “Let him go.”  
  
A snort of derision jetted down flared nostrils as his attention was turned to Lister. “ _You really think that a mere human can try and reason with me?_ ” he sneered. His eyes hardened dangerously. “ _Try and stop me?_ ”  
  
Lister shook his head in disbelief. He’d met London traffic wardens more willing to listen to reason. “Rimmer, what are you talking about?” he cried. “You’re human too!”  
  
A look of utter revulsion clouded the shadowed face further. “ _Humans are the vermin of this cosmos,_ ” came the almost pre-programmed reply. “ _A race to be exterminated. Wiped from the face of the universe._ ”  
  
Lister felt a lurch of nausea at the pure hatred entrenched in the hologram’s eyes. “That’s the virus talking, not you,” he mumbled, fighting to reassure himself with equal conviction. “Don’t you see? The simulants have corrupted yer mind.” He blinked his loss, unable to recognise anything in the being before him. “They’ve made you think like them.”  
  
Soulless eyes hardened with resolve as the gap closed between them. “ _The simulants have made me greater than I’ve ever been,_ ” he declared, simulated breath cold on Lister’s nose. “ _Humans and holograms alike will tremble at our very name._ ”  
  
Lister’s focus flittered momentarily across to Rimmer’s continued pained struggle before returning to the dark reflection once more. Jagged breaths threatened to catch in his throat as he fought to stay calm.   
  
“Rimmer,” he repeated carefully, his voice low and steady against the continued rumbles of the crates. He hoped that by repeating his name, he’d dredge forth some memory of his old self. “Please, man, you’ve gotta fight it. You’ve gotta remember who you are.” He licked away dry lips. “Who _we_ are.”   
  
Lister glanced back meaningfully to the others - a small yet determined collective in this hostile universe. They’d each played such a big role in the hologram’s existence - bringing more life to the man after his death than he could have ever known during his 31 years alive.   
  
And sure enough, something seemed to shift in his shadowy eyes. A spark of recognition.   
  
“ _Who you are?_ ” he echoed, disbelieving.   
  
Staggering back on unsteady legs, the pale face screwed tight with restrained fury. With barely a twitch of concentration, the trio were similarly wrenched from their feet to hover in mid-air, all trembling and writhing under the unseen grasp. The energy grew frenzied as it whipped up the loose papers in its wake, the lights flickering faster and faster.  
  
The pain was indescribable, threatening to overcome everything - including all rational thought. Lister had to claw it back down his throat just enough to cry out a plea to his lost crewmate.  
  
“Rimmer, don’t do this - !”  
  
“ _You all thought that I was weak and pathetic,_ ” he ground out, voice almost pained with the rage. His attention turned directly to Lister, staring at him intently as he spoke. “ _You mocked me relentlessly. Lied to me about who I really was. Hid from me my true potential._ ”   
  
Lister couldn’t even shake his head to disagree. Instead, he grimaced against the unbearable pressure that buzzed and wormed up and down his spine; a physical reminder (or was that _punishment?_ ) of the overwhelming secret that he’d been harbouring from him for two long years.  
  
“I thought I was doing the right thing  - ” he managed eventually. Trying to implore to him - trying to implore to _himself_ \- that it was the truth.   
  
But the dark shadow before him was in no frame of mind to listen. Instead, his eyes remained focused on the deck as he spoke.  
  
“ _What does it matter now?_ ” he asked with a dismissive snort. “ _Now I know who I really am. The greatness that I’m capable of._ ”  
  
Lister watched in horror as those black eyes snapped back up to the chaos that surrounded him, the decision clear in their depths.   
  
“ _I’m not going to let any of you hold me back anymore_ ,” he announced.   
  
“No! Rimm- !”  
  
The unrelenting buzz of energy reached a crescendo as it blasted across the room, casting out everything and everyone in its path. The group were thrown back by the sheer force, slamming against the four walls before slumping to the floor under a rain of splintered wood.   
  
Silence fell. The room was still once more.  
  
Blinking experimentally against his now pulsing vision, Lister glanced up with a groan. At first he thought that the lights were still flickering. Soon the realisation dawned that it was the shreds of torn paper that were fluttering innocently to the ground against the glare of the room.  
  
The man they’d once known as Rimmer had gone. In body and in mind.  
  
The latest in the Ace line was the first to break the gravity of the silence. Unfortunately his offering was characteristically unhelpful.  
  
“Wonderful,” he sighed, exasperated, as he pulled himself to his feet. “He’s about as mentally stable as a man that’s been kept on hold to technical support for six hours and forced to listen to an eternally looped tape of _Greensleeves_.”  
  
Kryten clanged a fist against his temple twice. The warning messages that flickered across his visuals imploring him to change his head unit refused to shift. “It appears as if Mr Rimmer has been teleported off this ship,” he observed, straining to keep his psi-scan in focus.  
  
Picking her way from out of the debris, Nirvanah released a shaken breath. “He didn’t kill us,” she managed, her tone etched with an edge of relieved disbelief.  
  
Tucking his hands under his arms, Rimmer shook his head in wonder. “Brains and good looks,” he muttered to himself. “I can see why he was so interested.”  
  
The redhead shot him a look that could chastise with a single glance. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” she growled between clenched teeth, “whilst he had no qualms with killing a room full of _Occassus_ technicians back there, he let us go.”  
  
Releasing a satisfying crack from his back, Lister blinked his confusion. “What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m saying that he’s holding back,” Nirvanah explained. “Didn’t you hear the recognition behind his anger?” She held his gaze with earnest eyes. “I think part of him might still be in there.”  
  
 _Perhaps the part of Mr Rimmer that becomes insanely angry when he finds a coffee-wet spoon in the sugar pot_ , Kryten reasoned silently.  
  
Lister nodded slowly as if warming to the prospect. “So what do we do?”  
  
Nirvanah picked at the tiny wooden splinters woven into her now less-than-coiffured locks. She shrugged loosely.  
  
The questioning glance flitted back to the latest incarnation. “Any ideas?”  
  
Arms still folded, the only movement Rimmer offered was the questioning arch of an eyebrow. “Oh yes,” he replied, mock-solemn. “Because I often find myself up against hologrammatic killing machines ravaged by simulant viruses.”  
  
“But you’re Ace!” Lister protested weakly. “I thought this sort of stuff was a walk in the park for you?”  
  
“Oh, so _now_ you think I’m capable of dealing with this smeg?” Rimmer scoffed, offended. “As you so gleefully pointed out yesterday, I’m still the office rookie when it comes to all things heroic. Supposedly, I’ve not been promoted beyond organising the stationary cupboard yet.”  
  
Drawing his hands down his face, Lister sighed into sweaty palms. “Let’s head back to _Wildfire_ ,” he suggested eventually. “We can explain to the others what’s happened and together we can work out some sort of plan.”  
  
Rimmer nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you’d like me to consult my copy of _An Idiot’s Guide to Saving Humanity_ whilst we’re at it, hmm?”  
  
******  
  
Looking back, he should have known something was wrong as soon as they beamed back aboard.   
  
Despite his self-doubts and misgivings, his last two years as Ace had honed his observational skills far more than he’d realised. The corner of his eye had snatched enough of a glimpse for his subconscious to clock the tampered keypad by the airlock.  
  
Rimmer strode on ahead. Un-strapping his gun belt and hooking it up by the munitions cupboard, he played up to his usual parody of a 1960’s sitcom husband returning from a hard day’s work at the office.  
  
“Honey, I’m home!” he called out through a teasing grin. “Stick the kettle on, won’t you, Rose?” Rimmer fiddled with the itchy spot of his wig that often plagued the back of his neck. “Things haven’t quite gone to plan and I fear this is going to be a ‘two pots of tea conundrum’ - ”  
  
Rimmer stopped dead in the doorway of the mid-section, his cheeky smirk sliding down his face. The others almost bundled into the back of him before they too realised what he’d stopped to stare at.  
  
The room was trashed beyond recognition. The table and chairs had been overturned, wall monitors smashed and hanging loose from their fixtures, and storage crates looted - their remaining unwanted trinkets littering the deck.   
  
A slow, comprehending silence dawned upon each of them.  
  
“Kris,” Lister breathed. Snapping out of his trance-like state, he scrabbled urgently over the upturned chairs, racing towards the sleeping quarters. “Kris!”  
  
Nirvanah picked her way across the room, surveying the mess around her. “Good grief,” she muttered solemnly. She rubbed her folded arms, self-conscious. “I’m presuming this isn’t how you left it.”  
  
Not picking up on the tension-breaking tone of the jibe, Kryten’s feathers ruffled visibly. “Certainly not on my watch, ma’am,” he huffed. “Why, according to my database this room was only scheduled to have a quick tickle around with a feather duster upon my return - ”  
  
Leaving Nirvanah to console the flustered mechanoid, Rimmer slowly tracked across the debris and into the cockpit. Apart from the backdrop of distressed static from the monitors, the ship was eerily quiet.  
  
Lister appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Rimmer, man, she’s gone.” His voice crumbled under the weight of the sheer panic. “Kris is gone, they’ve all gone.”   
  
Stumbling over the snake pit of wires that swarmed the deck, the Scouser’s turmeric-stained fingers latched onto the pilot chair for support. Dark eyes tried desperately to search his. “Who the smeggin’ hell did all this?”  
  
Rimmer didn’t return his gaze. He was too focused on the Post-it note stuck above the tangled mess of wires that splayed loose from the console. Where the dimension jump drive once was.  
  
 _Surprise!  :-)  
  
We’ve got something you want. You’ve got something we want.  
  
Come and play. It’ll be like old times.  
  
    - Pizzak  
  
_  
Rimmer swallowed hard, fighting back an old yet familiar wave of panic that threatened to engulf him.   
  
“Oh, smeg.”


	13. The Unspoken Destiny: part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies it's been so long since my last update, guys. Who'd have thought becoming a mum would take up so much of your time...?
> 
> Really hope you enjoy this next installment! As always, reviews are loved and hugged when they reach my inbox. Thank you.

Mechanoids weren't supposed to eavesdrop on human conversation.

It was a basic, fundamental rule that had been coded into his very being. Filed somewhere between his know-how of biscuit arrangements and his discerning knowledge of toilet cleaner brands.

So engrained was this imperative that Kryten felt sure he was drowning in a buzzing sea of error commands as he glanced up across the mid-section to watch Ms Crane open the cockpit doorway. With a subtle cough, he upped the levels on his audio receptors. The garbled, distant mumblings started to form words.

"Is everything alright in here?"

As soon as the platitude escaped her lips, Nirvanah knew it was a mistake. The raised voices she'd heard just moments before had fallen dangerously silent in her presence.

She glanced back and forth between them. Rimmer's nostrils flared, snorting back the venom that seemed desperate for escape. Lister scowled at him openly, viciously swiping at the tears stinging his eyes. She'd clearly walked right into the eye of a storm – the argument soon to gather force once again.

"Oh yeah, it's fine!" Lister sniped, voice unsteady. His eyes refused to tear away, boring deep holes into the man before him. "It's tickety-smegging-boo, isn't it, Rimmer?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Look – "

"No, _you_ look!" Tearing off the Post-It from the dashboard, Lister waved it briefly in Nirvanah's direction – apparently under the illusion that she was able to read the note in under two seconds – before thrusting it in Rimmer's face. "' _Come and play_ ' ?" he echoed, incredulous. "Is this what being Ace is all about for you? A smeggin' _game_?"

Rimmer fought to keep his composure as he regarded Lister evenly. The turmeric-stained fingers still clutching the Post-It were trembling visibly.

"Of course it isn't." He tried to keep his voice gentle, but allowed his irritation to surface as much as he dared. "But don't you see, Listy? The simulants are deliberately trying to bait us. Try and get us to act before we've had time to gather our thoughts and resources. Before we've thought of a plan – "

Lister's head spun dizzy. The man stood before him was the very image of the space hero he'd once admired all those years ago; their only hope of rescuing the others and defeating the simulants.

But all he could hear was his old bunkmate. The spineless weasel who would call him 'Listy' in grating, nasal tones and bore him to death with his Risk tactics. The lines between Arnold and Ace were far too blurry to stay focused.

"Ace is right," Nirvanah soothed. "We need time to – "

"Stop calling him that!" Lister snapped suddenly. "It sounds - "

Years of pent-up frustration and sorrow clambered for release through hurtful words. But the wounded look behind Rimmer's gaze reeled them back for now, and he hissed out the pent-up pressure instead.

" - smeg, I don't even know anymore."

The silence grew stale between them. The steady beeping from the console signaled yet more precious seconds wasted.

Lister shook his head, forlorn. "You said you'd look after her, man." His words were barely a whisper.

Mournful eyes met his, unwavering in their acceptance. "I know I did."

"Then why did you leave her?"

Nirvanah watched as Ace's – _Rimmer's_ \- face crumbled under some unseen or unspoken force. "Lister, he could have killed you," he mumbled. "I was trying to help."

Frustration got the better of him. And this time, Lister didn't have the energy to rein back the venom.

"If you wanted to _help_ , you should have done your smeggin' job in the first place and stayed here to protect Krissy and the others!" he bit back. "Not left them all to face the simulants by themselves! They didn't stand a smeggin' chance!"

Hazel eyes searched his as Rimmer's mouth hovered open before closing reluctantly. He offered a tight nod, solemn eyes downcast.

Lister scowled in the silence that followed. In the logic that only made sense in their strange, distorted relationship, the lack of retort or bite-back was more offensive than any insult. He deliberately caught Rimmer's shoulder as he shoved past him to leave.

Nirvanah remained perfectly still, avoiding any awkward eye contact as Lister stormed out of the cockpit.

Only when the door had slid shut behind him did she risk glancing up at the man stood silently beside her. The legends and stories gathered during the _Englightenment's_ research must have been true. It was obvious from the pained look on his face – the words that he would never be permitted to say.

He _had_ done his job. He'd had no choice.

After all, Ace Rimmer's ultimate destiny was to protect David Lister. The last human.

******

**SIX WEEKS EARLIER. DIMENSION 614-CB. BLERIOS 5.**

In the still and silent darkness, he waited.

Patience was most certainly his virtue. His entire life seemed to be spent waiting for something. Whether it was the slow yet steady progress of his latest trainee, or the inevitable arrival of the next, his endurance was always a calm and collected vigil.

Feline ears twitched, arching back to the distant sound behind him. He breathed in deeply through his nose before smiling into his exhale.

"You're late," he called.

"Fashionably." The word glided on the wind, sweeping loftily across the abandoned market square.

Tonga smirked as he turned to face his old protégé. The last 18 months had definitely added a swagger to his step.

"You're a difficult man to get hold of, you know."

Rimmer's hearty laugh was warm against the chill of the night air. He strode towards him, arms brandished as wide as his grin. "What can I say?" he chuckled. "I'm terribly busy and important nowadays."

Tonga slapped him proudly on the back as they hugged before snaring him in a head-lock. He rubbed his knuckles against the friction of that infamous wig. "And who's that thanks to?" he challenged.

"Argh! Smeggin' - You! YOU!"

Freeing himself from Tonga's grasp, the smile slid from Rimmer's face as he clocked the strange look in the Blerion's eye.

"What's wrong?"

There was a thoughtful pause. "I have something for you," Tonga explained evenly.

Fishing into the depths of his robes, his ancient fingers unfurled to reveal the small stone in his hand.

"Smegging hell," Rimmer spluttered. He glanced around to check that they were indeed alone. "Tonga - I don't understand - "

"You don't have to understand," he whispered. "You just have to accept it."

Rimmer frowned, confused. "But I thought we agreed it would be safer hidden here? In the temple?" he hissed. The hologram shook his head solemnly, the weight of the responsibility heavy on his shoulders. "The simulants have been tearing this universe apart looking for it." Watchful eyes flitted down the dark alleys. "They're following my every move."

"Indeed," Tonga nodded gently as he held it out to him. "And we also agreed that I'd return it to you when the time had come."

Rimmer whipped back to face him, the steely determination and the brash jokes now retreated in realisation. His eyes dropped to the stone nestled in Tonga's palm, regarding it carefully. As if he were staring his own fate in the face.

The ancient bell in the tower chimed in the distance, its call echoing across the abandoned square.

With visible reluctance, he took it.

"What the mirror showed me back then," he mumbled. "That I'm going to – " Clutching the stone tighter, his breath shuddered before calming, resolute. "It's going to happen soon, isn't it?"

Tonga didn't reply. He dipped his head in reverence, the vast hood throwing his face into shadow.

Despite his fear, a scoffed laugh jetted forth. "Oh well," Rimmer sighed, forcing a smile. "None of us can do this job forever, can they?"

The desert wind howled in mourning as the pair regarded the stars wordlessly. The stars stared silently back.

"If it means saving him, then so be it."


	14. Torn Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to those who continue to follow this fic and patiently await updates. Organising Dimension Jump XVII has kept me stupidly busy these last few months, so now it's over I hope to concentrate on ficcing a bit more!
> 
> Psst - if you haven't read 'The Prophecy' or 'Blurry' then you might want to check those out. Back-references aplenty! Here's hoping this is a welcome return... ;-)

_"If you wanted to_ help _, you should have done your smeggin' job in the first place and stayed here to protect Krissy and the others! Not left them all to face the simulants by themselves!"_

Rimmer closed his eyes in a pained frown, Lister's haunting words hanging stale in the recycled air of the ship. He'd offered no reply; there were no words. He'd screwed up on so many levels it was almost laughable. His predecessor was under the control of the simulants, his old crewmates were missing, and he'd managed to lose one the most precious pieces of technology the multiverse had ever known.

It was official. He was the worst Ace to have ever donned the stupid wig.

Peeling it off angrily, Rimmer tossed the blonde tresses onto the dashboard. Irritable fingers teased the repressed curls back to life.

The 'Ace' part of his mind called for calm over the panicked ranting of his former self. _Think about this logically_ , he told himself. _Kris, Cat and Rose were almost certainly being kept alive. After all, their safety is the simulants' key bargaining chip to get what they want._

Footsteps echoed behind him and Rimmer glanced back over his shoulder. A short, stocky frame appeared in the doorway, shaken.

"Rimmer. Look - "

The hologram waved a dismissive hand. "Don't," he sighed, apologetic. "It's me who should be - "

"No," Lister cut in quickly. A quivering finger snaked out towards the far corner of the cockpit window. " _Look_."

Rimmer craned his neck until a distant glow yawned through the edge of the window. An ugly tear - pulsing with white light - was slowly stretching across the endless darkness of space.

He bit his lip. Ah. That wasn't good.

Lister couldn't tear away his gaze. In all their years of witnessing the visual marvels of unchartered space, they'd never seen anything like that before.

"What the smeg is it?" he mumbled.

Rimmer swallowed audibly, his focus lost in the black depths of the void. "It's the dimension's way of telling me that I've screwed up."

* * *

Those violet eyes, once famed for their captivating abilities, were now snared by the pulsing tear that cracked the very fabric of space itself. In the hundreds of years she'd existed, she'd certainly not seen anything like it.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Juno scowled through the open doorway. Not that the simulants seemed to be paying much attention. Instead, the crew of the  _Orion_  had congregated in the Drive Room, presumably congratulating one another on Pizzak's latest spoils.

Re-joining the simulants hadn't been her greatest career move to date. Not that she'd had much choice in the matter, her services having been somewhat forcibly conscripted. As a symbi-morph – widely considered in the universe to be a second-class species - Juno was regarded by the simulants as being of little importance. However, her abilities managed to prove useful on the odd occasion before she was shoved back into the shadows, forgotten. Much like a sandwich toaster in that respect.

Arms folded, she sashayed into the Drive Room. "Hello? You do know there's a massive tear – rip –  _thing_  out there, don't you?" she mocked petulantly.

Pizzak acknowledged her with nothing but a low, exasperated growl.

Juno's eyes lit upon the Dimension Jump Drive that had been haphazardly hooked up to the  _Orion's_ flight systems. She repressed a shudder. Although she'd always been happy to see Ace Rimmer robbed of his credits to fund her next venture, the thought of this hijack left her cold.

"I'm guessing you  _have_ seen it, given that you're probably the ones that caused it." Juno cocked an invisible eyebrow. "Perhaps you shouldn't be playing with big boy toys that you can't handle."

" _Perhaps_ you _shouldn't insist on repeatedly testing my patience_."

By the time she'd whipped back to the voice, she'd been snared by a powerful telekinetic force that wrenched her frighteningly easily from the ground.

Juno's eyes widened as the figure snaring her slowly emerged from the darkness beside the doorway. No  _way_. It couldn't possibly be him.

"Ace?" she managed.

She'd heard them whisper his feared name for several days now, but she never thought it would signal anything has horrible as this.

Juno only had one psychic link with this incarnation; a mental hook that had bonded them for many years. But even that basic level of connection allowed her to see the ranting mess that his mind had become.

Gone was the clueless, pathetic worm; the conniving weasel that had pleaded with her for his freedom back on that Trading Post only weeks before. The slumbering memories of his time as Ace had clearly been re-awoken and distorted beyond recognition. A life breathed into them that was black and cold.

Juno's eyes fluttered closed in mourning. The Ace she'd once known had been lost to the darkness.

" _I told you not to let them find you_ ," she hissed silently in his mind, sympathy flirting with the reprimand.

A wicked grin spread across his face as he tightened his grip. " _And I told_ you _that if Pizzak didn't kill you, I'd finish you off myself,_ " he echoed back.

The symbi-morph blinked in surprise. It had been over two years now, but she could recall all-too-well his chilling promise after she'd lured him into that simulant trap back on the  _SS Aquarius_.

He  _remembered_  her.

Juno concentrated on the link as quickly as she could. Rifling through the mess of negativity and resisting the pained stabs that tried to force her back, she found what she was looking for. An image that she branded into her own mind for future reference. An image that must mean  _something_.

Pizzak didn't have to hear their psychic connection to understand their exchange. " _Don't_ waste your energy," he snapped. "She's not your concern." His attention turned back to the DJ drive. "I've got far more pressing matters for you to attend to."

Ace's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion before releasing her reluctantly. Breaking off any eye contact as not to give anything away, Juno slunk back into the shadows of the corridor.

As the mumbles of their conversation returned, Juno trembled in the darkness.

What was she doing here? Lati hekmat, she didn't even know what the hell she was to the simulants anymore. Cohort? Employee?  _Slave?_ Whatever she was, she'd been significantly short-changed.

Features set firm, she sauntered purposefully towards the lift and hit 'level 58' for the brig. She'd see how cocky the simulants would be if their bargaining chips were to somehow go missing _._

* * *

Perhaps too entranced by the eerie glow that pulsed from the tear, neither Rimmer nor Lister heard her approach.

"What on earth is going on?"

The pair swiveled round in their pilot seats. Swathed in a green silk dressing gown, Nirvanah hovered in the cockpit doorway, tapping her nails in absent concern against the frame. Her usual coiffure had been freed from its pinned shackles and now hung in loose curls around her shoulders.

She shook her head, frowning. "Don't you see? We seem to be getting some kind of temporal distortions happening on board."

Tearing his gaze away from the clear traces of her curves, Lister leaned into Rimmer conspiratorially. "Temporal distortions?"

"Time smeg-ups."

"Ah."

Confused, Nirvanah shook her head. "Sorry, what?"

Lister straightened in his seat. "Er – nothin'," he dismissed, a less-than-subtle cough not far behind it.

Nirvanah bit her lip. "I know that the Temporal Theory team back on the  _Enlightenment_ had conducted research on this phenomenon," she explained.

Rimmer's eyes flitted in assessment across the tear. "And what were their findings - ?" His words trailed off as he turned back to face her. Or at least where she  _had_ been.

He blinked. "Nirvanah?"

Glancing across to Lister, he could see his own open-mouthed confusion mirrored in the man beside him. His finger gestured loosely towards the doorway. "Wasn't she just - ?"

Lister rubbed his eyes with the soft leather of his gloves. "Too much beer or too little sleep," he groaned into his sleeves. "One of the two."

"What on earth is going on?"

Both men span round in their seats to see Nirvanah standing in the cockpit doorway once more. Two pairs of eyes flitted to meet one another in mutual confirmation before returning to her.

"I was gonna ask you the same question," Lister mumbled.

Nirvanah shook her head, frowning. "Don't you see? We seem to be getting some kind of temporal distortions happening on board."

Rimmer nodded absently. "I do believe that's rather evident, yes."

"Sorry, what?"

The pair shared knowing looks before turning back to her once more. "You said the guys back on the  _Enlightenment_ knew somethin' about this sorta stuff happenin'?" Lister prompted.

Lost in confused thought, Nirvanah bit her lip. "I remember that the Temporal Theory team back on the _Enlightenment_ had conducted research on this phenomenon."

Rimmer sighed. "Dare we ask what the findings were?"

Missing the déjà vu completely, Nirvanah dredged up what she could remember. "That the distortions presented themselves as a side-effect of a disruption to a pre-set timeline?" She shrugged loosely. "I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I discussed the findings with one of the research team."

"Interesting." Rimmer nodded politely. "You often had crew meetings that debriefed research findings?"

Nirvanah frowned. "No. We were having sex at the time."

Only the slightest twitch of the eyebrows gave Rimmer away, despite the unabashed façade. "Interesting," he echoed once more. It was the only word that seemed fitting.

"So let me get this straight." Lister steered the conversation with the grating of gears. "We're getting these funny time skits because something that was  _meant_ to happen, didn't happen?"

Rimmer nodded in the affirmative.

Confusion furrowed Lister's brow. "But I don't get it. That Blerion prophecy – Rimmer getting his old memories back and all that. It all came true. What she said would happen did happen."

Realisation dawned on Rimmer's features. "No, no – wait," he mumbled, fishing for the exact words. "The prophecy didn't say he  _would_ return. You said the Blerion told you 'he must not be  _allowed_  to return'. Right?"

Lister's eyes glazed over in recollection. "Right – "

Rimmer smacked his palm against his forehead in self-reprimand. "The prophecy you heard wasn't predicting what was  _going_ to happen. It was a warning. A message telling me what I needed to  _stop_  from happening in order to keep the pre-set timeline in check." Growling in realisation, he dragged his hands down his face. "And I blew it."

The trio gazed back out of the viewscreen once more. More and more tears were beginning to crack open now. The punctuating stars strained like the shirt buttons on Pavarotti's post-bolognaise-belly; fighting to keep the fabric of space in position. The once still and serene darkness was now leaking eerie glowing pockets of chaos.

"What's happening?" Lister mumbled.

Rimmer shook his head, solemn. "Time and space are collapsing. Rips are tearing open between dimensions because ours is so unstable." He licked away dry lips. "And if I don't fix the timeline and set it on the right course, I have a niggling feeling that this dimension is going to self-destruct."

The trio fell silent once more.

Rimmer heaved an irritable sigh. "I smegging hate it when that happens."

 


	15. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in four days? When you're hot, you're hot! ;-)

The tears continued to stretch and strain their way through the sky, slowly claiming the eternal darkness of space.

"Woah - hang on," Lister's lagging brain finally latched on to Rimmer's words. "What do you mean, you hate it when that happens?!" Brown eyes flared chestnut at the glaring light that continued to pulse through the cockpit window. "You've seen these before?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Well not  _this_ bad, obviously." He folded his arms in characteristic petulance. "I may not be perfect at this job, but I have it on good authority that I've never actually managed to destroy an entire dimension."

"Okay, okay," Lister pacified. Rimmer's debatable competence in his latest career venture was clearly a sore nerve.

"So what you're implying," Nirvanah ventured, "is that your main responsibility as Ace is to remove any threats or disruptions to pre-set timelines?" She cleared her throat purposefully, dropping her voice low. "As well as, you know – " Safely stood behind his back, Nirvanah nodded subtly in Lister's direction.

The last human snorted. "What, all the sex, you mean!"

Ignoring the joke, Rimmer's eyes searched hers. "More or less," he replied carefully. He glanced out at the devastation before them. "But I've never seen a reaction like this before. The universe must think this is too dangerous a deviation to sustain."

Lister scoffed. "Are you seriously tellin' me that the universe is capable of  _thought?_ "

"Don't knock it until you've tried it."

"Perhaps," Nirvanah cut in with the grating of gears, "we should be thinking of a plan? Like, how we're going to rescue your shipmates  _and_ get the Dimension Jump Drive back without the simulants noticing?"

"Well first of all, 'we' aren't going to be doing anything," Rimmer said firmly. "The pair of you will stay on board here with Kryten and I'll go." He stood, a cheeky grin plucking at the corner of his mouth. "And secondly, it's rather more fun if the simulants  _do_ take notice."

Lister stood in deliberate defiance. "If you think I'm gonna sit here and play the damsel in distress, then you've got another think comin'." He nodded to Rimmer. "I'm coming with yer."

Rimmer sighed. "Lister, I'm not turning this into an argument - "

"Well that makes things easier then, doesn't it?" He stared the hologram straight in the eye. "I'm coming with you – like it or lump it."

Rimmer swallowed back a dry throat. He'd already known what Lister's answer would be. After all, the mirror had shown him that his presence would be his downfall.

_If it means saving him, then - ?_

"So be it."

Lister offered a small smile of gratitude. "I'll see what supplies I can rustle up then, eh?"

Nirvanah glanced over her shoulder as he left the cockpit. Only when his footsteps had faded did her eyes flutter up to answer the question she already knew to be clear in his eyes.

"How do you know?"

Nirvanah shrugged in mock-innocence. "I couldn't possibly understand what you mean - ?"

"How?" he pressed.

There was an irritable sigh of surrender. "You really should look yourself up, you know," she berated. "It's a common theme in the myths and stories surrounding Ace Rimmer." Nirvanah regarded him from under a raised eyebrow, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Guardian of the last human."

Rimmer glanced anxiously through the doorway. "He's not supposed to find out – "

Nirvanah gently caught his cheek, pulling him back to regard her once more. " – and he  _won't_ ," she soothed. "Not from me, anyway."

In the strange silence that descended between them, Nirvanah's gaze tangled in the painfully familiar curl of Rimmer's hair. Her chest gave a low moan of mourning.

"What?"

"Nothing." She freed herself reluctantly. "Just – hmm."

Rimmer's usual self-consciousness about his natural locks gave way to sympathy. He nodded in wordless comprehension.

He kept perfectly still as her lips brushed against his. It wasn't a deliberate act; merely a natural magnetism from being far too close - in both proximity and image.

As she pulled away, Nirvanah's eyes traced the cockpit behind him. She gestured to the dashboard with a nod. "You forgot something."

Rimmer glanced back, his eyes immediately lighting upon the wig. With a flush in his cheeks, he scooped it up and returned it to his rightful place once more.

Checking that it was convincingly in place, Nirvanah flicked absently at one of the golden bangs.

"If you don't bring him back to me," she threatened evenly, "I'll have you court martialled."

Any remaining tension crumbled under the gentle weight of Rimmer's chuckle. He returned her gaze appreciatively. "I can see why he loves you so much."

Meanwhile in the midsection, Lister was busy fending off the fussing mechanoid.

"Kryten, when I said 'supplies', I meant I was looking for the munitions cupboard," he sighed. "I'm sure we're not gonna need any sandwiches."

"Well at least concede to taking along a nice flask of tea, sir," Kryten clucked, cubed finger raised in reproof. "Those nasty simulant ships can be rather nippy. I don't want you catching a cold."

Lister sighed in relent. "Fine, I'll take the tea," he bargained. Anything to keep the smegging peace.

Kryten's adopted a clear display of 'Mothering Mode'. "I'll get on it right away, Mr Lister," he chirped, before disappearing through the doorway to the galley.

"Lister!"

At the urgent call of his name, Lister whipped back to the staircase. The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end.

Rimmer – at least it  _appeared_ to be him – was perched awkwardly on the stairs, the image of his legs half-sunk into the metal treads. Hand thrust out towards him, he gestured quickly for him to follow.

"Do you trust me?" the voice echoed.

Lister remained silent as Rimmer vanished, simply blinking twice at the déjà vu. These temporal whatsits were far too reminiscent of the future echoes they'd seen in their youth.

"Lister?"

Once again, his Rasta plaits leapt as he spun back to the sound of his name. This time, Rimmer was stood in the cockpit doorway bedecked in his wig once again. Nirvanah hovered beside him.

"You ready?" he asked quietly.

Lister's eyes flitted critically over the guns stashed in his hip belt. Rimmer certainly  _looked_ the part. But as he knew all too well, appearances could be deceiving.

He answered both their questions as honestly as he could.

"I think so."

 


	16. Trapped

“For the third and final time, Cat. Simulants don’t install plug sockets in brig cells.”   
  
The Cat scowled, flashing angry white fangs. “I don’t believe this!” he yowled, brandishing his trusty travel-size straightening irons. They’d often proven useful for touching up his tresses whilst exploring abandoned derelicts. “How’s a cat supposed to keep this good-looking during a hostage situation?”   
  
A growl – clearly borne from being stuck together in close quarters for far too long – rumbled dangerously in Rose’s throat. “You’re not _supposed_ to look good during these situations, Cat. You’re supposed to be concentrating on working out how the smegging hell we’re going to get out of here.”   
  
The Cat sulked petulantly. “So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils can keep his new hair in place when dealing with these simulant dudes?”   
  
“It’s a - !”   
  
Rose stopped herself. It really wasn’t worth the argument.   
  
“ – struggle,” she conceded eventually. “He uses a bloody good hairspray.”   
  
Kochanski glanced up from underneath the straggles of her own hair. She was using every ounce of willpower not to be sick as the ship juddered violently once again.   
  
“Who’s driving this thing?” she moaned weakly. “It feels like they’re trying to steer a shopping trolley with one wheel missing and another rusted to hell.”   
  
Rose’s face darkened as she crossed over to the tiny porthole. “Bloody simulants!” she cried, aghast. “They’re jumping _again_.”  
  
Kochanski blinked her surprise. “Wait – you mean we’ve been _dimension jumping_  all this time?!”   
  
The computer snorted. “If you could call it that. They’ve got the technology but they clearly don’t have the first smegging clue how to use it.” She glanced back to Kochanski, sweeping back her fiery bangs with shaking hands. “It’s like lending your Jag to an 8-year old kid on a sugar high. He doesn’t know how to use it and sure as hell he’s not going to be careful with it.”   
  
In the silence that followed, Kochanski gnawed her worry into the tip of her thumb. The glow from the porthole dawned across her face. “The tears are getting bigger,” she mumbled.   
  
Rose’s hands dropped back to her side with a sigh. Her locks sprung back to shield her face. “I know.”   
  
Ancient emerald eyes turned back to regard the broken darkness. Every electron of her CPU buzzed white hot with the concealed panic. It was coded into her very being that this was very, _very_ wrong.   
  
“They’re tearing the universe apart looking for it,” she muttered under her breath, voice crumbling at the edges. “Skipping along fault lines between realities rather than calculating safely distanced jumps.” She sank back against the wall, arms crossed. “It’s the inter-dimensional equivalent of skating across a frozen pond. One wrong move and the whole thing will break.”   
  
“But _why_?” Kochanski rubbed her arms briskly against the chill of the ship. “Tearing the universe apart for what?”   
  
Rose dredged up a sunken smile and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she reassured. “It’s already in safe hands.”   
  
She recalled their swift jaunt to Blerios 5 only a few weeks before. Ace had been uncharacteristically quiet upon his return, unnerving her more than any bad news could. Yet despite her best mother-hen-clucking attempts to eke it out of him, he’d dismissed each one with lofty abandon. There was clearly something he wasn’t telling her.   
  
“It’s why they want Ace so badly,” Rose sighed. “The simulants were under the illusion that by taking control of his predecessor, they’d have everything they needed. Access to all of the universe’s secrets, how to control the DJ drive.” She coughed deliberately, dropping her voice. “Where certain powerful gemstones are hidden. Right?”   
  
At Kochanski’s expectant gaze, she shook her head. “It’s a basic question of security. One that’s especially important if a predecessor retires rather than dies. The full access codes to the DJ drive change with every incarnation of Ace.”   
  
“Meaning?”   
  
“Meaning – the simulants currently only have a limited version of the DJ drive. They can only skip to nearby dimensions that have been visited during the service of the previous incarnation. They have little control over where they want to go. Even with the – ” she shuddered, a cold chill creeping up her back, “ - conscripted assistance of a predecessor.”   
  
Kochanski bit her lip in sympathy. “So how come they haven’t tried to get the access codes out of you?” she asked gently.   
  
Rose shrugged. “It’s the first time that I’ve had a physical form in almost three million years. They clearly don’t realize that I’m the brains of the operation, so to speak.” She flicked an unamused eyebrow, hands on hips as she nodded down to her chest. “They probably just see the boobs and assume the usual when it comes to Ace’s reputation.”   
  
“Well, I’ve got to admit. You’ve picked yourself a decent pair there, sweetheart.”   
  
The trio spun back to the voice. Draped impassively in the barred doorway was a female silhouette. Kochanski’s eyes squinted in inspection, enough to make out the fine cross-matrix that was etched across her skin. A symbi-morph.   
  
The computer rolled her eyes. “Oh great,” she said sullenly. “ _You_.”   
  
Even in an amused snort, her voice remained silken. “Always a pleasure.”   
  
“ _Y’aow!_ ” Ears pricked, the Cat slid across gracefully to join her. “Now, you’re talking!” He eyed the symbi-morph’s curves with drooling appreciation. “Are you here on a conjugal visit, by any chance?” he winked.   
  
A laugh prickled on Rose’s lips. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”   
  
The shadowy face pouted mockingly. “Perhaps a tad jealous as to who exactly I got conjugal with, darling?”   
  
Kochanski’s gaze flitted back and forth like a spectator at Wimbledon. “I’m guessing that you two know one another?”   
  
Rose’s eyes narrowed. “You could say that.” With a shake of the head, she plastered her face with a smile hijacked from an air hostess. “Where are my manners? Cat, Kristine Kochanski – allow me to introduce you to a nasty piece of work.”   
  
“ _Juno_ ,” she corrected. She addressed Kochanski but crafted a sideways attack with carefully chosen words. “Look me up under Ace’s little black book of booty calls, honey. I’m sure you’ll find me.”   
  
“Probably under the section: _What Was I Thinking?_ ”   
  
Juno’s face clouded as she glared at the computer. “And here’s me thinking that you’d want help in upgrading your accommodation.” Violet eyes swept in disgust across the dingy cell. “But I can see that you’re clearly rather set on it.” She drew back to leave. “So if you’ll excuse me - ?”   
  
“Wait!” Kochanski scrabbled across to join the Cat at the bars. “You mean you’ll help us get out of here?”   
  
A spider-like smile crept across Juno’s face. “Who could resist a pretty face like that?”   
  
Blinking at the strange lure of those violet eyes, Kochanski sighed with relieved gratitude. “Thank you,” she breathed.   
  
“One condition,” she asserted silkily, tapping a playful finger against Kochanski’s nose. “If you get to escape,” she chewed over the prospect, fear dancing in her gaze, “you take me with you.”   
  
“What’s wrong?” Rose scoffed. “Is this latest job of yours offering no promotion prospects?”   
  
“Rose!” Kochanski hissed over her shoulder. “She’s trying to help us!”   
  
Juno glared icily at the computer, clearly affronted. “You really think, I - ?” The symbi-morph stopped herself, reining back some choice words before dropping her voice low. “You know what? I really don’t care what you think.”   
  
Her eyes softened as they returned to Kochanski. “I just want out.”   
  
Kochanski nodded gently, sliding her hand between the bars. Juno took it gratefully before setting to work on the keypad lock.   
  
“Hey, baby!” The Cat purred winningly. “One more favour?”   
  
Juno glanced up. A perfectly manicured hand thrust a pair of straightening irons through the bars.   
  
“Any idea where I can plug in these?”


	17. The Rescue

It didn’t take Lister long to work why the _SS Orion_ made him feel so unsettled. It was the disconcerting familiarity of the dank, grey metal. The circular, gantry corridors stacked in endless repetition. The haunting voices that echoed from the dark, howling expanse below.

It reminded him of The Tank.

Busy unscrewing the panel that encased the door mechanism, Rimmer almost dropped the screwdriver when he clocked where Lister was standing. “For smeg’s sake, we’re not conducting a property viewing!” he hissed. “Will you stay back in the shadow, please?”

Lister stuck out a playful tongue at the back of Rimmer’s head but nevertheless obeyed. He swept a critical gaze across the expanse. “Questionable central heating, dodgy neighbourhood. Not really my idea of a cozy retreat.”

With the screwdriver now clasped between his teeth to wrench off the loose panel, Rimmer spoke in lost consonants. “Says the man who once lived in a luggage locker.”

“Touché.”

He watched closely as Rimmer hooked up his tablet device to the now-exposed mechanisms, booted up the tiny computer and started furiously tapping at the keyboard. Lister folded his arms, suitably impressed. “You can crack security codes?”

“All part of the job description,” the hologram replied, distracted.

Lister grinned. “And here’s me thinkin’ the job description for Ace Rimmer ran along the lines of ‘Save the day - Rescue the damsel - Shag her stupid’.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Rimmer allowed himself a chuckle. “That’s the summary on page one, yes,” he conceded. “But there’s a hell of a lot more to it than the guns-blazing, ‘tally ho’ approach, you know.”

“Like?”

Rimmer cocked a meaningful eyebrow. “ _Like_ asking my latest, gorgeously feisty companion to actually do something useful and keep watch.”

Pursing his lips in a mocking kiss, Lister stalked further along the corridor to stand in the shadows. There was little else to do but watch and wait.

Twenty minutes passed by wordlessly, the silence only punctuated by the dance of Rimmer’s fingers across the keypad. Lister had gnawed himself a new stubbly path across his thumbnail.

Eventually Rimmer pulled back from the keypad with an audible growl. “It’s no good,” he sighed. “The codes are changing too quickly for me to keep up. Without Rose’s help, it could take me hours to crack the code of each door alone.”

It had become an increasingly typical security approach on simulant ships. Different sections of the ship would utilise the same security code for precisely two minutes before the central system generated another to replace it.

Lister dragged his fingers through the tight dark curls of his hair. “We don’t _have_ hours, man,” he implored. “We need to get down to them now!”

Drumming agitated fingers against the doorframe, Rimmer bit his lip. “How many floors did you say there were between here and the brig?”

Lister grimaced. "Kryten reckoned over 200 floors.” He jabbed a finger south in indication.

“Of course,” Rimmer rolled his eyes. Plucking forth a metallic black disc strapped to his belt, he began to fiddle sulkily with the large karabiner hook that protruded from one side. “It couldn’t be the next bloody level down, could it? Far too simple.”

Lister’s eyes flitted curiously over the contraption in his hand. “What you got there?”

Rimmer ignored the question. “I’ve only done this a couple of times in my basic training, but I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike,” he muttered to himself. He gave the karabiner two sharp tugs to test the tension of the cord that had been wound into the metal disc.

Clocking Lister’s look of confusion, Rimmer merely flashed him a resigned shrug as he slotted back the metal disc so that it clicked into his belt harness. Taking a few steps back towards the wall, he steadied himself with a breath.

“You owe me another drink after this, you know,” he threatened playfully, gesturing at Lister with the hook. “That’s _two_ Clarets on the chalkboard, squire.”

“What are you - ?”

Lister hardly had a chance to ask. Pushing himself off the wall, Rimmer sprinted towards the edge of the gantry, hauled himself onto the railings with a swift _click_ of the hook and jumped.

“Rimmer - !”

Lister scrabbled across to the safety rail and peered over the edge. He could just make out Rimmer’s distant form as he disappeared into the dark void, the jump cord rippling in his wake.

Lister pulled back, the vertigo too overwhelming. He blinked unsteadily.

“I’m definitely getting the first round in when this is done,” he mumbled.

******

The bitter wind howled in Rimmer’s ears as he fell, the floors whipping by far faster than he could count. He resisted the urge to screw his eyes closed and scream hysterically, deciding instead that it might be much more helpful if he slowed his descent as soon as possible. Especially if he had any hope of locating the floor where the others were being held captive.

Unhooking the belay from his belt, he spun backwards to face the jump cord, snapped it on and held tight in preparation.

Nothing happened. He continued to plummet.

Panicked, he pulled it off and snapped it back on again. Nada. The world still whistled past him at frightening speed.

Uh-oh.

******

“So which way now?” Kochanski hissed.

Rose’s green eyes sparkled, flitting back and forth as her CPU got to work. “We’re on level 58,” she replied distantly. “In order to get a clear enough signal to use the comms link, we’ll need to reach level 275 and above.” She turned her attention back to Kochanski with a low sigh. “Seeing as taking the lift could potentially leave us trapped when the simulants work out we’ve escaped, it looks like we’re in for quite a climb.”

Juno rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she purred, her silken voice dripping with disdain. “You’re giving the sims far too much credit, you know. They have the mental capacity of a squashed gnat.” She glanced up to the ancient security camera mounted on the wall; a system she knew all too well wasn’t monitored. “With the Dimension Jump Drive under their belts, they’re probably feeling far too full of themselves to even notice the movements of anyone else around them.”

Rose scoffed. “I’ve been dealing with simulants for hundreds of years, thank you very much,” she dismissed. “And I know what levels of misleading deviousness they’re capable of.” She looked the symbi-morph up and down, flicking a sarcastic eyebrow. “Rather reminiscent of a species not a million miles from here.”

Unfazed by the dig, Juno simply folded her arms. “Forgive me. I thought you’d be the first to recognise a pompous creature when you saw it.” She coughed theatrically, muttering under her breath. “Seeing as you have to babysit the largest ego in the cosmos.”

The twitch of Rose’s eye sparked a new level of hatred as her fingers retreated into less-than-surreptitious fists. “Come over here and say that,” she threatened evenly.

Attention snatched from the female squabbling, the Cat’s ears instinctively pricked up. A strange sound seemed to etch against the deep bass thump of the ship’s engines. He held a hand aloft for silence.

“What’s that noise?” he asked slowly.

The warring women fell quiet as Kochanski glanced anxiously over her shoulder. “Simulants?” she mouthed.

Exasperated, the Cat shook his head. Humans were so damn deaf. “Not _those_ guys,” he replied. His voice dropped once more, lost in concentration. “Something…familiar.”

In a flash of realisation, he rushed over to the edge of the gantry and glanced up. Exchanging shrugs of mutual confusion, the others joined him at the safety rail.

_“Smeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeg!”_

The group stumbled back in shock as a man hurtled past them at break-neck speed, a rippling jump cord trailing behind him.

Kochanski blinked twice. “Was that - ?”

Rose groaned to herself as she leant forward on the safety rail. “You haven’t released the toggle!” she hollered after the man’s swiftly disappearing form.

After a few seconds, the slack cord suddenly jarred to a taut halt, creaking gently back and forth in the darkness. “I knew that,” a distant voice muttered from the void.

A whirring sound of the retracting cord echoed up from the darkness. Rose stifled a giggle as an all-too-familiar figure rose up before them.

“About time you showed up,” she chided warmly.

Rimmer flicked his hair for dramatic effect, forced to cast away the remaining stubborn bang from his eyes with a less than subtle blow from the corner of his mouth.

“Ladies and gents, this is level 58,” he announced in his best ‘Ace’ voice. “Lift going up to all floors. Please board for bed linen, ladies shoes and getting the smeg out of here.”


	18. Te Akonga Hokinga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I've been waiting a long time to write - 'Te Akonga Hokinga' or 'The Student's Return'. Having been shown their fate by the mirror years before ('124 Days') the teacher and the student finally come face to face once again.

_**DIMENSION 614-CB. BLERIOS 5.** _

In the haunting darkness of the desert night, the temple stood still and silent.

The chanting and prayer had faded with the dying sun. The hordes of Maitiaki and worshippers had long since departed, their proffered sticks of incense now lying in eternal rest in powdered mounds.

Moonlight stretched across the sandstone walls and slipped underneath the archway of the shrine. Skipping past the decorative flowers and offerings, its glow rested upon the object of affection; a majestic, floor-length mirror whose golden frame sparkled in the flickering candlelight.

The _Karahe o Whakaata_ – the Mirror of Reflection – was a gift from the Goddess Lati. Through its metaphysical reflection, her worshippers could seek guidance in times of great need. According to ancient religious texts, a chosen few would even see their greatest fear reflected in its ancient glass. The premise was simple yet effective. If Lati deemed them ready to face it, they might learn how best to overcome it.

Years before, the mirror had prophesized Rimmer's dark downfall. It had even revealed the fate of the latest incarnation in Ace's endless chain. A fate he'd revealed to no-one.

And now, knelt before it with eyes closed in silent prayer, Tonga held vigil. Yet unlike the countless nights that he'd simply sat to pray, he now sat in wait.

It was just as the mirror had foretold. He arrived with a breath as cold and whisperingly brief as death itself; and yet its force was strong enough to snuff out each of the candles that encircled the mirror.

Tonga's eyes peeled open, feline tail twitching with caution.

"So you have decided to return," the Blerion called softly, his voice delicate enough to be buoyed up by the evening desert air. Tonga's gaze flitted up to the mirror where, sure enough, the figure's reflection stood.

"I know why you are here," he told the reflection. "And you're wasting your time. You won't find it."

Tonga glanced through the tall arched windows of the temple. Against the natural glow of the moon, the night sky continued to split. A far darker void pulsed from within its depths.

"And you are content to destroy the universe in this futile search." He finally stood, turning to take in the darkness that had consumed his old protégé. " _Years_ of your good work undone in just days."

" _My best work is yet to come._ " The nasal tones that Tonga had once known so well were now distorted with ugly electronic feedback. " _Once we locate the Jadestone, we shall have sufficient energy to power our dimension jump to the human colonies._ "

Tonga's face retreated slowly, the sickened realisation in his eyes impossible to hide. His voice sank into a quiet, pleading sorrow. "Don't do this – "

The corner of Ace's lip twitched as what sounded like a pre-programmed reply spurted forth. " _Humans are the vermin of this universe,_ " he spat. " _They are to be exterminated. Wiped from the face of the cosmos._ "

Beyond the temple's open doorway, the bitter desert wind howled its lament. Shaking his head, Tonga's eyes fell lacklustre as they regarded his old apprentice sadly.

" _Akonga o mua,_ " he mourned, the Blerion slipping unchecked from his lips. "What have they done to you?"

Clearly still able to understand the Blerion language, Ace snorted dismissively at his turn of phrase. " _I'm no longer your 'student', Tonga. I have a new master now,_ " he sneered. " _And he has shown me my true potential. Made me greater than I have ever been._ "

"No," Tonga shook his head solemnly. "He has rendered you more powerless than you ever feared possible."

Ace scowled darkly. Riled, he struck Tonga across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

" _Where is it?_ " he snarled.

The Blerion gasped, blinking experimentally against his throbbing cheek. Fuelled by anger and consumed by a holovirus, his inhuman strength could be limitless. His breath slowed into a stubborn silence.

The kick to his stomach was forceful enough to send him tumbling back in a tangle of robes. Booted footfall stalked towards him

" _Come on, old chum,_ " Ace laboured mockingly over his once-common idiom. " _Fight back._ " He regarded his old master evenly as he wheezed and spluttered at his feet. " _After all, you're the one who taught me how, all those years ago._ "

Glancing up, Tonga's features retreating into a primal snarl. "I will not engage in combat on holy ground," he growled. "And if you think that you can _beat_ its whereabouts out of me, you are very much mistaken."

Ace didn't reply, instead sinking down on his haunches before him. In the quiet stillness of the desert night air, soulless eyes searched his. Feline eyes narrowed, wordlessly translating its meaning before growing wide. He couldn't breathe.

A smile crept across Ace's face. He slowly stood, drawing Tonga up with him in a grip that didn't need hands.

" _The Four Cities have fallen,_ " he said calmly. " _The Watengi Tribe – no more._ " Those dark eyes flitted critically over Tonga's bedraggled form as he struggled against the invisible grip. " _So if you think a pathetically insignificant specimen such as yourself is capable of stopping me then you are very much mistaken._ "

Tonga shook uncontrollably under the flames of a horrified, burning injustice. Despite the agonizing pressure, he clambered to speak.

"Then go on, kill me," he challenged. "If that is what your new master wants." Tonga's voice trembled, shaken by the hundreds of lives he'd almost certainly extinguished in the search for the Jadestone. Rendered powerless, he only had words to war with. "If that is what you want," he added pointedly.

Tonga watched as something retreated in his gaze. A flicker of the fear and uncertainty he'd seen long ago when they'd first met. He could hear the buzzing sing of the trinkets and offerings as they trembled under the resonating pressure. The restrained fury etched its way across his face as his eyes screwed closed.

Without warning, Ace cast him back with a dismissive wave of the hand. Flying backwards, Tonga smashed into the mirror, the glass shattering into a rain of shards that tumbled to the floor with him.

Chest visibly heaving, Ace's defensive scowl returned. " _Taihoakoeka kitei te hē o tāu mahi,_ " he threatened evenly.

Tonga's eyes fluttered open as he felt the brush of a whispered breath once again. By the time he looked up, he was gone.

The Blerion picked his way upright amongst the broken glass, sitting back on the torn tatters of his Maitiaki robes. A shuddering breath caught in his throat as the deathly chill of the desert wind chased away what remained of the day's heat. The once-great Ace Rimmer had fallen so far into darkness.

Yet he clung to the universal belief - the common proverb that was muttered across every far-flung planet - that where there was still light, there was still hope.


	19. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's been about 3 million years since I last updated this. But now my children are no longer babies, it's time I did this fic and this series arc justice and finish it!
> 
> Thanks to those of you who left such amazing comments or contacted me. You've been my inspiration to complete it.

Why had it taken her so damn long to figure it out?

Watching from the shadows, Juno chewed on the tip of her thumb thoughtfully as she watched the female and the feline being strapped into the twin harnesses before being hoisted up by the jump cord.

“When you reach Lister, cast the line back down,” the hologram hissed up to them in an oddly nasal voice. “We won't be far behind you.”

The mystery surrounding the legendary Ace Rimmer was like a puzzle that had slowly slotted into place over the years. It was the little things she'd noticed. Her continual need to recast her psychic hook into his mind after becoming inexplicably disconnected. The little differences in his short-term memory. The subtle changes in his personality and mood. Even his kinks in bed. Small clues that seemed disjointed in their own right, yet made perfect sense when building a bigger picture.

However, it was definitely his hapless squealing as he'd plummeted past them in a gymnastic display of ineptitude that had been the final piece she’d needed. 

Juno regarded him intently as he began to detach some tools from his belt. Of course he'd regained composure quickly, as he always seemed to do at such odd moments. Like he'd temporarily forgotten his lines and was forced to improvise until he could recall his script. A mask that would occasionally slip if one was paying close enough attention.

Her thoughts had obviously begun to etch silently on her features. With a protracted roll of the eyes, Rose crossed the gantry to join her. “What's with the face?” she prompted with a huff.

Thumb slipping from her mouth, Juno looked at her straight. “Your CPU must be scrambled if you think this newbie is up to stopping the rogue one.”

The ripples of panic surfaced on Rose’s face before she could reel them back. She still hadn't gotten used to these pesky emotions that could so easily surface on hologrammatic features. “Newbie?” she echoed uneasily before steadying it with a dismissive scoff. “What you jabbering on about now, ‘morph?”

A sharp eyebrow knocked her back. “You think I was created yesterday?” Juno smarmed. “Besides,” she sniffed, “it seems I ran into this particular rogue retiree not so long ago.” She recalled the whiny, pathetic specimen that she'd managed to snare back on that Blerion Trading Post. Why hadn't the stupid fool heeded her warning? “You know, before he started spending his retirement riddled with a holovirus. Let's just say it's hardly been taxing putting two and two together establishing how it all works.”

Rose opened her mouth to speak before deciding it would be put to better use by expelling a pent-up sigh. 

“How long?” Juno asked simply.

There was an awkward silence before Rose answered. “About two years - ” she mumbled.

“ - _Lati hekmat!_ \- "

“ - but he's doing just fine, thank you,” the computer hissed, as if to drag Juno’s volume down to her own subtle levels.

“Oh right,” the symbi-morph nodded, mock-solemn. “So he's had enough time to learn how to operate the cockpit door then?”

Rose fumed silently, feathers ruffled. “For your information,” she replied pointedly, “he's got to grips with a vast range of combat techniques and surveillance strategies.”

Juno glanced over the computer’s shoulder with an ill-concealed smirk. “I can see that,” she sniggered under her breath. Rose shot her a dirty look before turning to follow her gaze. 

“Stupid smegging piece of - ”

Nose twitching in rodent-like concentration, Rimmer’s mini screwdriver surreptitiously battled with the radio transmitter now clutched in his hand. He gnawed his confusion out on his lower lip; a look that was absurdly reminiscent of a toddler attempting to slot together a pair of click-blocks.

“He’s doing fine,” Rose grated through a forced smile.

A flash, an angry _FZZT!_ and an “OW!” suggested rather the opposite.

As Rimmer shook off his sore hand to a chorus of curses, Juno shook her head slowly. “The butterfly hasn’t quite emerged yet, has it?”

Rose’s tell-tale wince spoke volumes. It seemed, for once, they actually agreed on something.

Juno brushed past the computer with a fold of the arms, flashing a knowing look over her shoulder before slinking across the room to join him.

“Hey,” she called with a jut of the chin. “Need a little help there?”

Startled, Rimmer palmed the screwdriver quickly. “No, no, just – ” He deliberately cleared his throat, uncertain which voice to use. “Nothing for you to worry about, sugar plum. Everything is under control.”

“Hmm.” Juno eased her way in gently. “And here's me thinking the radio transmitter wasn't behaving for you.”

Rimmer expelled a forceful sigh. “It can't be a loose connection,” he groused, clearly riled despite the attempt of a calm facade. “I've checked it three times.”

The symbi-morph offered a soothing nod. “Simulant ships generally emit scrambler signals to disable transmitter devices,” she explained. 

Juno gently extracted the radio from the hologram’s hands before it risked being crushed beyond repair, before wiggling indicating fingers for the screwdriver. “However, if you disconnect the universal emitter and re-route the signal onto a higher frequency, you can usually get it to play ball. If this is the main unit, the secondary will automatically reselect accordingly, although the connection may still scramble intermittently.”

Rimmer had the good grace to look impressed. “Clearly a smart cookie,” he nodded warmly. “Where did you learn that?”

Juno shrugged, nonchalant. “From a Comms Technician I slept with.”

“Lucky man.”

An amused eyebrow raised although her eyes remained fixed to her task. “Man?” she echoed before tutting in reprimand. “I'm not one to discriminate, and neither should you.”

“Point taken.” Rimmer drummed long fingers against his legs, suddenly self-conscious. “I guess I'm not used to having to rely on these. What with the old girl able to keep tabs on me through my light bee.”

“Like any overbearing mother hen would.”

Rimmer chuckled. “Indeed.” 

The radio suddenly crackled into life. A happy snort jetted down cavernous nostrils. “Guess it just needed a woman’s touch and a quick screw - ”

Static sparked from the other line. _“Generally it's the custom to buy them dinner first.”_

“Oh ha ha, Lister,” his old snide tone had escaped before he’d had a chance to check himself. It was an instinctive reaction to such baiting that was hard to dampen. At Juno’s questioning smile, Rimmer remembered himself and he coughed awkwardly, accepting back the radio. “Have the Cat and Kris reached you yet?”

_“Well I can hear someone distantly complaining about the tension cord creasing up their jacket, so I'm guessing they can't be far now.”_

Rimmer nodded, relieved. “Excellent. Just make sure you keep to the shadows, yes?”

_“Yeah, yeah, I know what I'm doing,”_ Lister chided. _“It's not like we didn't used to do this before your job change, y’know.”_

Rimmer quickly switched the radio off with a forced laugh. “Well that's definitely working again,” he strained, embarrassed. “Thank you kindly, Ms - ” There was an awkward pause as he snagged on her name, slack-jawed. Over her shoulder, Rose glared at him expectantly. Smeg. He was obviously expected to know this.

The symbi-morph raised a knowing eyebrow as she handed back the screwdriver. “Juno,” she prompted with a smirk.

“Juno – right. Nice to meet you.”

There was another awkward pause. As Rose slapped a silent palm to her forehead, Rimmer’s eyes winced shut before one peeled open experimentally. 

“We’ve met before haven’t we?” Smeg it all. His predecessors’ continuity was a right bugger to remember.

“Oh, we’ve done a lot more than that, darling,” she purred suggestively. With warm pulses, her image flickered through a variety of female images, mapping quite an impressive range of species. “Although it no longer seems a surprise why your tastes have varied so much over the years. Different strokes for different folks, eh?”

Finally returning to her neutral image, Juno smirked at his gobsmacked stare. “I'm afraid your secret isn't quite so secret anymore. I know how the game works.” She tapped him playfully on the nose; just the jump-start reminder his mouth needed to close once again. “What I’d give to be able to read your thoughts right now.”

The hologram blinked twice. With the way he’d been admiring her arse earlier, he was rather glad she couldn’t. Even without recalling his predecessors’ notes, he'd heard of a species with these abilities before. Mild telepathy, shape-shifting. Rimmer nodded in a vague understanding.

“You’re a symbi-morph?” he offered tentatively, his Ace-voice now shrugged off.

_“Ding, ding, ding!”_ she chimed cheerfully, the _Family Fortunes_ sound effect mimicked with startling realism. “Someone’s been doing their homework.”

“Seriously?” Rimmer’s face lit up, snorting in joyous disbelief. “Well this is perfect!” He glanced across to share his excitement with Rose, who returned an unimpressed scowl instead. Missing the message completely, he turned his attention back to Juno. “This could be your chance to get even with the kidnapping bastards. If you could mimic a simulant guard, we could sneak right into the - ”

“She wasn't captured by them, Ace,” Rose said flatly. “She’s working for them.”

Rimmer’s face fell, a cocktail of disappointment and disgust clouding his face. “You're what?”

“Hey!” The symbi-morph growled over her shoulder at Rose, though her voice was shadowed with guilt. “I don't work for anyone.” It was a lie and she knew it.

Leaning against the gantry rail, Rose snorted. “Okay. ‘Siding with the highest bidder’. Call it what you want.”

Rimmer shot a reproachful look to the computer before returning his attention back to Juno. “Look, I don't really care about what you've done, more about what you're going to do next. If we work together, we can hold him off long enough to get the DJ Drive back,” he enthused. “I know we can.”

“Oh, put away the movie sentiments, new boy. That sickly sweet crap gives me indigestion,” Juno reprimanded. “Thanks to that holovirus, your predecessor’s telekinetic powers are off the scale.” She folded her arms. “How do you think you're going to stop him when you can't even stop me?”

“Can't stop you?” Rimmer chuckled loftily. “Oh, _please_ ,” he scoffed, not wholly paying attention to the unimpressed glare that clouded Juno’s black-matrix features, nor the way her stare intensified in a strangely captivating manner. If he'd have paid attention, he'd have noticed how he was increasingly unable to look away. “No offence, but I’ve single-handedly overthrown dictatorships, I'll have you know. I think I could stop - ”

“Give me your gun.”

Rimmer unhooked his gun and held it out to her without hesitation. “Okay,” he offered, eyes locked with hers but with a tell-tale distant air.

Juno’s brow pinched, unimpressed, at his unabashed offer. “Wow. Really?” she snorted flatly. There was ‘suggestible’ when it came to hypnosis but _jeez_. She glanced back to the computer, who merely pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

Violet eyes returned to flit critically across his features before softening as they returned to his lost, helpless gaze. Her hold on him was fairly weak and would only last a matter of minutes, given that they shared none of her psychic hooks. It was a basic ability, usually sufficient to either make her escape or to conquer and make off with the spoils of battle. Still, she wordlessly revelled in the delicious moment where the infamous Ace Rimmer was hers to command. 

“Although - ” she warmed, “ - that is pretty cute.”

Grasping him by the gun arm she pulled him down to face-height, reeling him into a triumphant, passionate kiss.

Rose rolled her eyes, half-expecting the gesture. “Not _here_ ,” she reprimanded.

Juno moaned her disappointment through locked lips. As her hypnotic hold released him, Rimmer’s eyes flew open, darting awkwardly around the gantry before plucking himself away. 

“You're right,” Juno relented, running a tidying finger across her lip. “Grated decks are a nightmare on the back.”

Rimmer straightened self-consciously, scratching at the seam of the wig that sat itchy against his neck. “Sorry - did I miss something?”

“Those are just cheap party tricks,” Rose dismissed with a wave of the hand. “Besides, I've seen no evidence that the holovirus has rendered him fully telepathic.”

“Seriously. If someone could fill me in, that would be great - ”

Juno nodded her agreement. “He can convey and receive messages telepathically but I don't think he can read minds as such.” Her mouth tightened, a cold chill creeping across her shoulders. “I'd already be dead if that were the case.”

“Is that my gun?”

Juno huffed impatiently, handing the hologram back his weapon. “Look honey, your best bet is to just turn tail and make your escape. You aren't going to win this one.”

“When we need to refer to an expert on cowardly back-stabbing, we’ll consult you, okay?” Rose glared at her, challenging, before flicking a dismissive eyebrow. “Just ignore her, Ace, you're better off without her anyway. Trust me.”

“Excuse me, petal,” Juno scowled. “But who said I even wanted in on this _Scooby Doo_ adventure, anyway?”

“Oh, so what happened to your ‘I want out’ clause back there? That was a cry for help if ever I heard one - ”

“That's enough!” Rimmer expelled a calming sigh before turning to Rose. “Wasn't it you who told me it was my job never to turn my back on someone who needed help?” 

A whirring echoed from the dark expanse behind them and Rose glanced over her shoulder to see the jump cord slowly lowering back down. A low growl rumbled from her lightbee. “I'll set up the harnesses,” she muttered, drawing back to the safety rail.

As the computer retreated, Rimmer turned back to Juno. “Are you wanting out?” he prompted gently. 

Agitated eyes avoided both his gaze and the question. “Your ride is here,” she announced simply.

There was a pained silence. Rimmer searched her face, brow pinched. “Are they threatening you?”

“Look, I've done my bit, okay?” Juno held up her hands. “I thought the sims were getting too cocky so I did it to stir things up a bit.” Her expression began to sober. “But helping Ace Rimmer take down their fleet? No way. It's not the kind of thing I go in for, thanks.”

“But if you help me, I can help you too,” he assured. Rimmer could see the fear flickering in the depths of her affronted stare. 

“You see, freeing them,” she jerked finger skyward, as if to indicate the rest of the group, “that's one thing. But helping you?” She sighed as she shook her head firmly, turning back towards the corridor to leave. “I can't, I'm sorry.”

He caught her arm. “Juno, _please_ \- ”

She growled, trying to shrug him off but to no avail. “They would _kill_ me if they found out,” she hissed back, almost cat-like in her aggression. 

Rimmer's gaze dropped to her arm, noticing for the first time the paper-thin silver lines that sliced along the shimmering black skin and stretched possessively across her shoulder-blades. Eyes heavy with remorse, he returned to hers, noticing how the violet depths now sparkled with something quite far from her hypnotic snare. 

She swallowed hard. “They _would_ ,” she managed, dipping her head until it sank into shadow. Feeling a reassuring thumb rubbing along her skin, she bit back her lip.

Rimmer bent down to snare her gaze. “I wouldn't let that happen.”

Juno sighed, exasperated, although the unshed tears were now clear. “Why are you saying these things?” she demanded, her once-defensive voice now cracking to reveal something raw and unbridled underneath. “ _He,_ ” she didn't need to say the name for him to understand she was referring to his predecessor, “hated me.”

Rimmer's face darkened. “We're not the same man,” he shot back, voice now low. “You of all people should know that.”

Blinking in surprise, Juno's hard-set expression retreated. “People?” she repeated distantly.

The hologram and the symbi-morph regarded one another wordlessly. The hum of the engines thumped with a deep bass, shadowing the comprehending silence that echoed between them. 

“I'm counting this as a clean slate, Juno,” he affirmed. “I honestly couldn't give two smegs if you’ve screwed over five or five-hundred of my predecessors. If I'm going to finish off those simulants, I'm going to need your help.”

Glancing down to his hand, Juno's long, slender fingers traced his thoughtfully.

“Don't you see?” he implored. “This is your chance to do the right thing. Have a fresh start.” Rimmer shook his head imperceptibly, brow pinched with disbelief. “Are you really just going to walk away from that?”

Violet eyes locked with his own. Slowly, carefully, she extracted her arm from his grasp. This time, she was met with no resistance. 

“Look, I'm sorry to do this to you,” she mumbled. 

Rimmer reined back a look of genuine surprise and disappointment before resettling his attention the deck instead. “I understand,” he replied quietly.

Glancing back to check that Rose was suitably occupied, Juno lowered her voice. “You see, I’d usually ask permission but - you know,” her eyes sank closed in concentration, “ - situation being what it is, we haven’t exactly got time to chat.”

Confused, Rimmer barely had time to look back up. “Ask permission to do wh - ?”

An intense _pulse_ , like a powerful yet silent shockwave, suddenly blasted through his mind. Juno’s face began to throb in and out of focus before him, a black murky cloud creeping out from the wings and seeping across his vision; as if he’d stood up too fast and felt a rush of blood to the head.

“ – smeg - ” he managed dizzily, fighting to stay upright.

Out the corner of her eye, Rose clocked the moment the hologram crumpled to his knees. “Ace!” Racing across to crouch by his side, she scowled up at the symbi-morph. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Juno batted away fussing hands. “He’s fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve cast one of my hooks into his mind to psychically connect us. It’s no biggie.” 

“No biggie?!” Rose echoed, seething. “Psychic links are supposed to be mutually agreed before connection! You could have caused some serious damage to his memory files with the shock alone!”

Juno growled under her breath. “Will someone hit _control, alt, delete_ on this computer? She’s really beginning to bug me.” She glanced over her shoulder, catching Rose’s incensed glare in her peripheral vision. “I know what I’m doing. A little trust goes a long way, you know.”

She turned her attention back to Rimmer’s trembling form, rubbing his arms roughly as if to resurrect some semblance of sense from him. 

“Come on,” she spoke to him with a raised voice, like a school teacher reprimanding a small child. “It’s only one hook, stop being such a wuss. Besides, you’ve gotta be a bit more _compus mentus_ for this to work.” Her long, slender fingers slid up to grasp his temples. “Before I go, there's something I need to show you.”

Rimmer grit his teeth. His head continued to pulse, resonating white heat as if _something_ had been seared into it. His eyes wrenched reluctantly open to meet hers. “Show me what?” he rasped, his voice shaken.

The symbi-morph regarded him sadly. “What's inside his mind,” she said simply.

And with the closing of her eyes, suddenly he was wrenched away from reality and into a black, seething mass of agony. Frenzied screams of death and destruction and _hatred_ , with a ferocity that he'd never known before.

Yet in the middle of the storming darkness and chaos stood a single glass chamber that imprisoned his predecessor; the original Arnold J. Rimmer. His blue navigation uniform was slowly being overcome with bleeding black cloud, his body beginning to fade into nothingness piece by piece. With the mouth now unable to speak, his eyes pleaded silently as his one remaining hand gestured wildly against the glass to help.

No, wait. Not gesturing. Signaling.

Five fingers. One finger. Three fingers.

Five fingers. One finger. Three fingers.

5.1.3.

513

Suddenly he was ripped backwards and, with a pained gasp, wrenched back to reality. Rimmer’s vision was still throbbing as the blurred outline of Juno pulled herself quickly to her feet.

“Don't say that I never ever help you out, sunshine,” she threatened evenly. Cat-light feet padded hurriedly towards the doorway. “Call it a parting gift!”

Glaring at the symbi-morph’s retreating form, Rose hauled him up to his boots. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly. She could tell from the reams of sensory feedback from his lightbee that he was still reeling. “What on Earth did she show you?”

Rimmer grabbed a hand onto her arm to steady himself. “Part of him is still alive in there,” he gasped, disbelieving. “But I don't think we have much time.”


	20. Misconceptions: part three

There were an infinite number of different species that existed out there in the cosmos. 

Yet only _Felis Sapiens_ could perch elegantly on a wall vent to sip tea from a flask onboard a godforsaken simulant ship, and make it look like Afternoon Tea at the Ritz.

The Cat wrinkled his nose until his fangs began to show. “Man, I keep telling Butterpat Head that if he's gonna make tea, then it needs more milk!” He shook his immaculately coiffured head, bemused. “How's a cat supposed to enjoy a break when the tea isn't milky enough?”

From the safety rail, Lister and Kochanski strained and grunted as they helped to haul up the jump cord that carried Rimmer and Rose. The slow, steady speed of the winding mechanism was all well and good if you were happy to sit back and take in the sights. However, they were all rather keen on making their escape before the simulants noticed their conspicuous disappearance.

“Feel free to step in and help, Cat,” Lister groused sarcastically. “Y’know, anytime it's convenient for you.”

The Cat glared at him, as if he'd just suggested he throw himself off the gantry. “Can't you see I'm in need of refreshment?” he yowled back, offended. When he was satisfied that he'd out-stared his primate companion, he tutted. “Self, self, self - ” he muttered, fishing through the contents of the backpack. “Did he pack any biscuits in here?”

“Biscuits?!” Lister grunted as he hauled up another section of cord. “What makes you think - ?”

“Hey!” the Cat cried in triumph, brandishing a packet of Custard Creams. “My favourite!”

Tightening her grip on the cord, Kochanski rolled her eyes as he tore into the wrapper with relish. “Of course he did - ”

A few more heaves and both Rimmer and Rose were close enough to haul themselves over the safety rail and onto the gantry. Rose unclicked her harness wordlessly, flashing him the odd, assessing glance. Rimmer did battle with his, as if he couldn't get the thing off fast enough, before snatching it up from the floor and storming across the gantry to grab the rucksack from the now-hissing feline.

Blue eyes flitted curiously back and forth between the pair before Kochanski trotted after him. Judging from the strained silence, clearly something had happened between them. However, there was a more noticeable absence that needed addressing. As Rimmer began to fold up the harness to pack it away, she stooped to snare his attention.

“Where's Juno?”

Rimmer’s focus remained steadfast on his work. “She's not coming,” he said simply.

Her face fell. “What?” Kochanski turned back to Rose who was busy helping Lister to gather up the cord. She shook her head, disbelieving. “But she said she’d help us.” Despite the confident, silky exterior, she’d seen the fear that held dominion in her gaze. “Rimmer, she looked pretty frightened - ”

“Yeah, she is,” he conceded sadly before finally returning her questioning stare. “But equally, she’s too scared to act.” He sighed, shrugging in defeat as he thrust it into the rucksack. “I said I'd protect her but it wasn't enough.”

Kochanski nodded, rubbing his arm. “You tried your best.”

Scowling, Rimmer shrugged off both her hand and her reassurance. “Yes, but I don't get prizes for ‘good effort’ in this, Kris!” Clocking her surprise at his sudden outburst, he growled out his frustrations. Rimmer rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel ridiculously off my game right now,” he grieved. “ - I can't believe I smegged up the jump cord back there - ”

“Rimmer,” she sighed heavily in reprimand. “I couldn't care less if you'd have shown up in clown shoes with your jacket on backwards. The most important thing is that you _saved_ us.” She extracted the rucksack from his grasp and began to zip it closed. “If it wasn't for you, we'd be attempting a 200 floor climb right now.”

Yet the frustrations continued to spill forth, as if the plug hadn't been released for quite some time. “And another thing! I'm fed up of being told who I am and am not supposed to side with, just because of how they've treated a predecessor of mine,” he vented, granting Rose’s back a glare. 

“It doesn't matter what our backstory supposedly was. Juno needed my help, yet she was too scared to accept it because of a ridiculously rigid job description, and a history between us that I'm not even privy to.” He straightened, arms brandished in affront. “Can't I make my own decisions about someone?!”

Kochanski dropped the rucksack by his boots. She’d heard enough. With a single finger, she hooked him by the t-shirt collar, forcing him to stoop to her height. 

“Right, you listen to me. I know you're pissed off but we really need you to focus right now, okay?” She enunciated each sentence with a nod of emphasis that she encouraged him to echo. “Remember, you are Ace. And Ace is going to get us out of here, and then he's going to get the DJ Drive back. Got it?”

A grateful smile crept across Rimmer’s face. He grabbed her by the cheeks and planted a thankful, audible kiss on her forehead before lowering his gaze in line with hers. “What am I going to do with you, eh?” 

Kochanski shrugged him off affectionately before swiping at the stray blonde wisps of his wig. “Like you promised, you doughnut.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “You're going to take me back home.”

From the edge of the gantry, Lister had watched this unfold as he wound up the jump cord; each rotation became rougher and rougher. _If they were going to secretly carry on behind his back then fine. But right in front of him?!_

Rimmer’s smile retreated. “Kris,” he levelled. “Don't you think you should at least - ?”

But Kochanski cut him off quickly, tearing away her gaze before crossing to join the Cat in his offer of a Custard Cream. As soon as she had left, Lister seized upon the moment. Thundering towards him, he shoved the bundle into Rimmer’s chest.

“Hey!” Caught off-guard, Rimmer blinked twice. “What is with you?!

Lister ignored the dig. “What’s going on between you and Kris that you're not telling me?”

Rimmer froze. Smeg it all, he'd _told_ Kris that Lister would work it out eventually. Frankly, he was surprised it had taken him so long.

Flustered, the hologram glanced across to Kochanski’s back before returning to the incensed glare. “I-I don't really think this is the place to discuss it.”

“It's the perfect place to discuss it,” Lister insisted, voice now dangerously low. “I'm not an idiot, Rimmer. I noticed when we first arrived on Wildfire. What the smeg is going on?”

Suddenly the air erupted in a wail of sirens, the lights now pulsing red. The Cat lowered the flask cup from his lips with an air of casual disdain. 

“Oh, now what?” he wailed.

 _“Attention!”_ A deep voice, edged with electronic feedback barked through the speakers. _“Humanoid prisoners have escaped from Floor 58. Security to sweep all decks immediately.”_

“So Juno couldn't keep it to herself after all,” Rose muttered under her breath. “I hate being right.”

It was probably the one and only time Rimmer was glad of such a diversion. Armed simulant guards he could deal with. But _talking?_ He shuddered. That was a different matter.

“Well I'm guessing that the sims have worked out that their prisoners have gone AWOL,” he answered, side-stepping Lister’s original question with little grace. He thrust the backpack into Lister’s chest, ignoring the incensed glare he got in return. “Come on. Let's get you lot out of here, sharpish. Rose?”

The computer’s eyes sparkled as her CPU assessed the options. “There's a signal patch registering about 62 metres away. It's not great, but it'll be enough to allow a clear teleport back to Wildfire.” She blinked back to reality, gesturing to the doorway on their left. “If we follow the corridor up this way, we should hit it.”

The Cat’s brow furrowed, draining the last of his tea with little interest. “What are you talking about, Other Bud Babe?” he muttered into the cup.

With a roll of the eyes, Rose dragged her description down to his level. “The simulants are going to shoot us if we don't go and find a magic door,” she explained, in a tone usually reserved for children and foreign tourists.

The feline sat bolt upright. “What?! Well, why didn't you monkeys say?” Spinning closed the flask, he dabbed the corner of his lip with a handkerchief. “I've heard Scarper City is lovely this time of year. Anyone care to join me?”

Without word or exchange, the group mutually agreed that they rather did.

They ran. The Cat’s naturally agile physique glided effortlessly alongside Kochanski and Rose as they sprinted towards the signal. Rimmer brought up the rear, herding a lagging Lister - who was now silently regretting the Lamb Biriyani breakfast - behind them.

The group tracked through the endless maze of corridors until the path opened into a long stretch. Racing a fair distance ahead, the trio skidded to a stop at Rose’s gesturing hand.

“I think we’re getting something! I just need to make the final calibrations!” she cried, pulling the teleporter from her belt, before calling back over her shoulder. “Ace! Cover me!”

“On it!” Rimmer called. Sliding into a skid, he swivelled back just before the open doorway, simultaneously drawing his guns and training them in readiness. 

Lister slowed a little less elegantly, staggering back towards the hologram on legs as unsteady as a gazelle’s first steps. “You didn't answer my question,” he said flatly, his accusation somewhat undermined by his fervent puffing.

Still focused on his watch, Rimmer’s eyes wearied visibly. “I'm _busy_ , Lister. In case you hadn't noticed.”

“What?” Lister goaded. “The oh-so-amazing Ace Rimmer can't keep watch and talk at the same time?” Baiting Rimmer was a reaction more instinctive than breathing.

There was a low growl. “Really?!” Rimmer strained. “You still want to do this now?”

Lister sighed. “Look, if something happens to any of us, I just want it on record,” he insisted. With their only chance of survival resting on a man who used to noise-pollute their shared cell with James Last albums, the risk of ‘something’ happening seemed pretty high. 

Yet Lister’s face softened under the heat of words unsaid. Despite the hologram’s irritating penchant for pettiness, his straight-talking nature - even at the risk of offending someone - was a characteristic he rather appreciated.

“Be honest with me, man,” he begged quietly. Even over the din of the alarms, his words were still clear. “I've always been straight with you.”

At Lister’s plea, Rimmer swallowed awkwardly, his loyalties now ripped in two. Desperate to spare Lister’s feelings, he did it in the manner only he could. “Does it matter?” he dismissed nasally. “Does it really need to be said?”

Lister’s features recoiled as if stung before hardening into a scowl, unthinking fingers balling into fists. “I thought with this latest career move, you were done with being a coward, Rimmer!” he snapped. Despite the man’s marked concentration, he could tell he was plucking at his last nerve by the flare of his nostrils. But he didn't much care. 

Lister had long suspected that this version of Rimmer had had a bit of a thing for Kris during their days in The Tank. From sideways glances in the canteen to outright fellow ogling during the televised Shower Night, he'd always seemed to harbour an unspoken crush. Equally, the fact he hadn't told Kris the truth about who he really was when he’d first rescued her suggested he’d been focusing on getting his leg over as quickly as possible.

“Just admit it, you weasily smegger!” he demanded, his volume now less than subtle. “You’ve been planning this all along, haven't you?! Go on! Say it!”

Riled, Rimmer finally snapped. “Okay, fine!” he blurted. Guns dropping to his sides in dereliction of duty, he rounded on Lister angrily. “Before you showed up, I'd agreed to take Kris back to her own dimension! Now are you satisfied?!”

“I knew it! You - ” Lister began triumphantly before his face sagged. “You what?”

“We never intended to return to this dimension in the first place.” At the wounded look in Lister’s eyes, Rimmer’s anger diffused. “She wasn't looking for you, Lister,” he mourned. “I'm sorry.”

At the same moment, the pair realised quite how public their argument had become. Still raw from the revelation, they slowly swivelled back to Kochanski to see that yes, she had indeed heard everything.

There were no words. He wasn't even sure if this deception was worse than the one his jealousy-ridden mind had concocted. 

Lister’s dark eyes searched her own for the flickering embers of something between them that could be stoked back to life. But the single, broken look that she returned down the corridor quenched it sadly before dropping to her boots.

With a swift double beep of the locking mechanism, the door that sat between them suddenly slammed closed. Startled, each side scrambled across to jab at the door lock and pound at the metal to no avail.

“No, no, no, no!”

“Smeg!” Rimmer cursed, holstering his guns. “The simulants must know we’re in this sector. Everything's switched to lock down!”

The palm of Rose’s hand slapped against the glass to snare their attention. “It'll take me approximately six minutes to crack the code on this door, Ace,” she shouted, voice muffled through the glass. “Sit tight.”

Glancing back to the foreboding darkness of the corridor, Rimmer shook his head. “It's six minutes too long, old girl,” he grimaced. “Lister and I are sitting ducks here. We’re all safer if you teleport back and we keep moving.” 

Despite her concern, Rose nodded. She knew it was the most sensible option - after all, two people stranded on a simulant ship was marginally safer than five. Plus, the fewer people Ace needed to protect whilst on his mission to retrieve the DJ Drive, the better.

“Try and stay on this level,” she instructed. “Once we’re back on board, we can try and determine a clear enough signal for us to teleport Lister back.” Rose closed her eyes in concentration. “I'm going to transfer you some bits and pieces to your memory files, including a basic map layout that I've managed to hack from their database. Standby.”

Rimmer’s eyes sank closed momentarily, pupils flitting back and forth underneath as if he were in the midst of R.E.M sleep, before they sprang open once more. “Well that takes the mystery out of things somewhat,” he grinned his gratitude.

“Good luck.”

With a nod, Rimmer bundled his old bunkmate down the corridor, the pair quickly breaking into a run. The sirens continued to wail, red warning lights pulsing urgently. 

“We’ll head towards the aft,” Rimmer barked. “It looks like there's an air vent not too far from here. We can hide in there until the others can get a trace on us and teleport you out.”

Struggling to keep up with the pace, Lister swallowed back his embarrassment. “So you and Kris weren't - ? Y’know - ? ”

At his indicative gesture with a turmeric-stained finger, Rimmer rolled his eyes. “Of course not, you stupid gimboid,” he sighed. “I’ll admit I'm an arsehole, but I'm not _that_ much of an arsehole.” 

As they continued to run, Rimmer eyed Lister’s lagging pace critically. He needed this dumpy onion of a man to _move_ and quickly. 

“Besides,” the hologram panted, casting a sly sideways look. “She didn't even say ‘please’.”

Putting on an extra burst of speed to avoid Lister’s answering fist, Rimmer cackled with laughter. 

“That’s it, Listy!” he called over his shoulder. “Keep up if you don't want to die!”


	21. Cornered

Scowling at Rimmer’s retreating form, Lister upped the pace with a grating of teeth. “Why didn't she just smegging _tell_ me?!” he gasped. “I'm hardly a kid anymore, man. I could’ve handled it.”

The hologram rolled his eyes as he ran, reining back the temptation to remind Lister of his penchant for Sugar-Puff sandwiches. “For smeg’s sake, this is why I don't do emotional ties,” he muttered under his breath as they rounded the next corner. “I can't _focus_ if there's drama to deal with. Honestly, this is worse than one of your god-awful soap operas - ”

The pair quickly skidded to a halt as a trio of simulant guards emerged from the distant end of the corridor. Clocking them immediately, soulless eyes lit with a threatening ferocity as three sets of guns loaded.

“Visual confirmed!” one barked into a wrist mic. “Ace Rimmer located on Corridor Gamma-Delta-Four!”

A growl rumbled from the depths of his light bee, as if this lethal interruption was just as irritating as yet another episode of _St. Elsewhere_. Rimmer whipped out his guns. “Lister, get back!” he yelled over his shoulder as he took aim.

For once, Lister wasn't going to argue with him. Gripping the straps of the backpack with sweaty hands, he scrabbled to turn before racing back around the corner, ducking his head down instinctively as the first shots were fired.

Lister’s pace staggered to a stop as he risked a glance over his shoulder, heart pounding. His survival instinct screamed at him to run. And yet a part of him couldn't help but he drawn, bewildered, by the notion of his once-cowardly bunk-mate locked in a pitched gun battle with deranged cybernetic killing machines.

Rimmer slid back into view as he retreated back steadily to the wall. His features knotted as he furiously returned fire, blinking awkwardly as bullets streaked past him. 

“Head for the Storage Bay on your right!” he yelled over the din. “It's your only chance of cov- _argh!_ ”

Wrenching back his guns, Rimmer quickly staggered into the safety of the corridor, the projection of his shoulder pulsing angrily.

The direct hit snapped Lister out of his reverie. “Rimmer!” he hollered, trotting back towards the hologram who was biting back a string of expletives.

With a frustrated growl, Rimmer lifted his head up to fire off a scowl that would knock him back. “For smeg’s sake, Lister! Keep - !” Lister watched as hazel eyes suddenly flitted past him; Rimmer’s face quickly retreating from a pained grimace to panic. “Look out!” he cried.

Lister barely had any time to react. By the time his head whipped back to see the second trio of simulants training their guns on him from the far end of the corridor, Rimmer had already sprung forward to his defence. In one fluid movement, the hologram thrust his companion against the wall to shield him from a spray of bullets before whipping round to extend his gun and return fire.

From the muffled confines of Rimmer’s jacket, Lister’s peripheral vision caught the flashes of light as the guards fizzed and sparked, jerking uncontrollably.

“Quickly!” Rimmer plucked him away from the wall before bundling him through the doorway to their right. “Take cover!”

Lister staggered inside, dazed, the door sliding shut behind them. This was far too surreal for words. Rimmer had just saved his life twice without a second thought. His old self had barely been prepared to let him borrow a used tea bag.

Rimmer’s lean fingers danced frantically over the door’s keypad. “I need to work out the correct override code to lock down this door!” he babbled, panicked.

Eyeing up the fire extinguisher on the wall, Lister allowed himself a satisfactory grin. At least there were still the odd moments where he could prove useful. Wrenching it from its unit, he gestured with a nod. “Allow me,” he grunted. 

The hologram barely had a chance to scrabble back out of harm’s way before Lister swung the canister forward and smashed it as hard as he could into the door’s control panel. The box spat sparks as its mechanism died with a relenting hum.

Rimmer cocked his head in bemused allowance. “Or, y’know. That'll also do the job nicely.”

 

******

Leaping into the swivel chair next to her latest hologammatic cohort, Rose jabbed urgently at Wildfire’s comms panel. “Are you getting anything?”

Despite a desperate shake of the head, Nirvanah’s perfect red coiffure remaining perfectly still. “The light bee trace keeps dropping out,” she clipped. “I can't seem to establish any form of signal for teleportation.”

Rose bit her lip. “The sims are onto us,” she lamented before offering Nirvanah an encouraging nod. “We’ll keep trying.”

 

******

“Come _on_. What's taking them so damn long?” Rimmer growled under his breath. His eyes sank closed in concentration, focusing his light bee onto the comms connection. “Rose, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Staticked radio silence in return. He had a sneaking suspicion that something was jamming the signal.

The relentless pounding at the door snared his attention. The simulants were now increasingly keen to gain entry.

“Rimmer man, it's a dead end!” Lister grimaced. “What the smeg are we gonna do?”

Lister was right. Judging by the map files that Rose had downloaded into his short term memory, this was indeed a dead end. In fact, given the two-prong approach of the simulants attack, it was fairly likely that they'd intended to drive them into the Storage Bay in the first place. To cut them off, drive them into a corner and then --

Rimmer’s stomach lurched as Lister spurted forth clouds of panicked breaths that curled into the chilly air. The image seemed to brand itself into his mind; a stark visual reminder of the fragile mortality that he needed to protect. 

The hologram exhaled shakily, yet the air remained undisturbed around him. When you were already dead, you had nothing to lose. After all, his hard-light drive could sustain simulant gunfire to a certain degree, usually long enough to bid a hasty retreat when needed. But when you were still breathing, it only took one hit and it was game over. If he smegged this up, Lister could _die_.

Turning away, he silenced Arnold’s panicked ranting and closed his eyes, tuning in to Ace’s thought processes with a long, slow breath. He bowed to a now-ingrained instinct, hazel eyes suddenly springing open to flit across the room in a swift, critical assessment. A flurry of scenarios, ideas, and inspirations hurtled through his electronic mind as he mentally tested every object available to him. Being Ace was about thinking outside of the box.

Box.

_Crates._

Turning his attention to the pile of crates stacked against the far wall, Rimmer quickly judged their height and stability. They wouldn’t allow him to reach the ventilation shaft on the opposite wall, but they _would_ allow him to reach - ?

The distant creaking of the crate winch snared his attention as it swung nonchalantly from the ceiling above them. He felt a surge of synthetic adrenaline as his eyes traced the path of its overhead guidance track. The chains stretched across the length of the ceiling and into a large service duct that was clearly designed to take storage crates up and… 

Out.

Disbelieving legs staggered into a run. Racing across to the crates at an almost inhuman speed, the hologram hoisted himself up and began to scale their dizzying height. Out _where_ exactly, he didn’t have time to determine. But it would most likely be a safer location than their current one, granting them some precious time to come up with a plan.

Despite the bullying, his gymnastics classes after school were clearly a proven advantage. Steadying his balance on the precarious pile, he sprung across to grab onto the winch chain, latching on with spindly limbs. The resulting momentum creaked the pulley into life, dragging the winch as close to the floor as the chain allowed.

Lister turned back to the door. The incessant pounding had silenced. Stepping in to replace it was the tell-tale beeping rhythm of an explosive device that signaled their time was very much up.

“Lister!”

The Scouser’s dreadlocks leapt over his shoulder as he spun back to face the desperate call.

One foot wedged in an awkward balance in the hook’s arch, Rimmer thrust out a hand towards him, gesturing for him to follow. “Do you trust me?”

Lister blinked in shock. It was the future echo he'd seen as they were preparing to leave Wildfire.

The déjà vu only rooted him in place for a couple of seconds. Then, without debate or hesitation, Lister charged across the room, boots pounding against the metal grated deck. Hands met sleeves as the two men grasped each other by the arm to haul Lister up onto the crate hook. 

The moment that Lister had managed to secure his own hold on the now-swaying chain, Rimmer released his arm and drew out a gun. Startled, Lister tipped back awkwardly as the hologram leant across him to take aim at the winch’s control panel on the gantry above.

Despite the time pressure, Rimmer knew that two extra bullets in his barrel was more valuable than trying to rush the shot and missing his target. A three-second, steadying exhale was exactly the calming stillness he needed as a narrowed eye stared down the gun sight.

A single shot sent the control panel into a panicked flurry of sparks, triggering the pulley and wrenching the pair screaming skyward. 

The moment the winch clicked into the guidance track, the door below blasted open to reveal four simulants guards through the crawling smoke. Spilling out into the room, they glanced up at the winch’s treacherous creaking, and quickly took aim.

“Look out!” Lister yelled.

As the winch began accelerating towards the service duct in a sloping descent, Rimmer used the forward momentum to swing the winch around and wrap himself around his old bunkmate. With Lister now obscured, his back exploded in pain at the onslaught of bullets before the pair were thrust into the darkness of the duct.

Rimmer cried out through gritted teeth as his back began to pulse. The pair held on tighter, struggling to keep their grip against the force of the wind that howled past them and threatened to wrench them free. 

A pinprick of distant light pierced through the blackness, rapidly growing in size before rushing to envelop them as they suddenly thrust their way into a second storage bay. The winch _clanged_ to a halt against the stop mechanism; the resulting momentum finally strong enough to wrench the chain out of their grasp and send them flying across the room before crashing into a pile of crates.

Lister moaned, every inch of his body queuing up at the complaints desk. Dragging himself out of the splintered remains of a smashed crate, he pulled himself to his haunches.

He coughed painfully. “Rimmer?”

Silence.

Panicked dark eyes swept around the room before snaring on the strange white glare that flickered from underneath a pile of shattered wood. 

“Rimmer!”

Scrabbling across to join him, Lister’s stomach plummeted. The hologram lay motionless on his front, the bullet wounds that peppered his back pulsing with an ominous glow in the low light of the hold.

Frantic, Lister began to pluck away the long shards of wood that blanketed his inanimate frame. “I'm sorry I didn't trust you before,” he grieved, confessions suddenly spilling forth freely. “I shouldn't have called you a coward. What you did back there, man, that took some serious guts.”

Now free from his wooden confines, Rimmer stirred. His shoulders shuddered in heaves as he sobbed.

“Rimmer?” Lister called, startled. His mouth set firm, his mind scrabbling for a plan. “Listen, stay put. I'll try and radio Rose for help, okay?” Wrenching off the backpack, he began fumbling through the contents. “She’ll know how to help yer.”

Lister jerked backwards as the hologram suddenly rolled onto his back in a fit of -- hang on. Rimmer hadn't been crying. He'd been - 

At the Scouser’s horrified look, Rimmer’s laughter intensified. “Your face!” he managed in between breaths, hands clutching his stomach helplessly. “That was really rather touching, Listy.”

Lister blinked twice, disbelieving. “You what? You're okay -?!”

Rimmer’s brow pinched, highly amused. “Of course I'm okay, you daft git,” he snorted. “You seriously think a few bullets to my projection is going to shut me down?” He shifted with a pained grimace, arching an eyebrow, nonchalant. “My self-repair will sort it.”

Lister’s face retreated in realisation. “Oh, you _bastard_ ,” he chided, swatting at him half-heartedly. It was hard to keep a straight face against Rimmer’s cackling.

Clawing back a grin of his own, gloved hands folded, mock-solemn. “ _So,_ ” Lister challenged, readying a come-back. “According to protocol, how does it work exactly?” He treated Rimmer to a flirtatious eyebrow as his laughter finally slowed. “After you've rescued your damsel, is she supposed to demonstrate her gratitude somehow?”

“Ha,” Rimmer snorted with a grin at the jibe. “Well, it’s not necessarily a -- Lister, _get off!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments very much appreciated. Fankoo!


	22. The Calm Before the Storm

With the Cat enjoying a quick power nap on top of the comforting warmth of the server bank, Rose, Nirvanah, and Kochanski were finally able to concentrate on monitoring Wildfire’s controls without his over-tired complaining.

“Oh for pity’s sake!” Nirvanah huffed, the closest she ever allowed herself to get to cursing in public. “I can't establish a work-around to the simulants’ signal jammer.” A perfectly-manicured red fingernail tapped in irritation on the Comms panel. “There's no way of establishing a trace on Ace’s light bee or even communicating with the pair of them.”

“Hey,” Rose eased, proffering her a warm sideways smile. At Nirvanah’s starched silence, Rose reached across to place a hand on hers, rubbing a reassuring thumb across her knuckles. “We’ll work it out, don't worry.”

“Besides, the boys are capable of being sensible when push comes to shove,” Kochanski reasoned. She swivelled her chair back to Rose. “I'm sure Rimmer is avoiding trouble and keeping their heads down until we can locate them, right?”

The computer’s mouth hung open as her hand twitched back, this time finding the reassurances a little slow to manifest. “Erm - ”

To her great relief, Kryten ducked through the doorway in full mother hen-clucking mode. “Ma’am,” he addressed Kochanski. “I was wondering if you'd like me to make you ladies a nice cup of - ?”

There was a disconcerting _thwip_ as the entire cockpit jolted forwards in time. Blinking, disorientated, three sets of eyes suddenly darted to the steaming mugs of tea in each of their hands. 

The hot ceramic began patiently scalding Kochanski’s left palm and she shook it free, hissing through her teeth. “Ahh! Erm - thanks, Kryten.”

But as Nirvanah tried to take her first, cautious sip, another _thwip_ jerked the cockpit and the mug was suddenly cold and empty in her hands. “Ah,” she surmised curtly. “Well, I'm sure it was very nice.” She offered an apologetic tilt of the head. “Thanks.”

“Absolutely cracking. Cheers, Kryten,” Rose grinned, masking the deep concern that threatened to conquer her face as she handed back her mug. “How did you know I took three sugars?”

The mechanoid’s plastic features twisted sheepishly as he fumbled with the tray that had mysteriously appeared in his hands seconds before. “I suppose I better clear away, ma’am,” he muttered, gathering the mugs and returning to the galley.

Rose bit her lip. This was definitely one to chalk up for the ‘Not Good’ column. The temporal distortions were getting worse and worse, suggesting that they were fast approaching the point of no return. If Ace didn't restore causality soon, it would be too late to save the dimension from tearing apart completely.

Tapping urgently at the Navigation console, Kochanski began to quiver visibly. “Ladies, you better take a look at coordinates 45-32-207,” she mumbled. 

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the Comms readout, Nirvanah angled her head back to listen. “Why? What's out there?”

Kochanski’s eyes flitted back and forth between the Wildfire’s star chart records and the current navigation readout. “It's more like what's _not_ out there.”

 

******

Hands tucked under armpits to protect his fingers from the icy chill, Lister had lost track of how long he'd been staring out of the window. The concern had now etched deep into his frown lines that the years in deep space had already carved out, as if it now threatened to become a permanent fixture.

It was undeniable. It was getting worse.

What had started as tiny slithers of light against the eternal blackness of space had now widened and multiplied. The rips now yawned lazily wider to the chaos beyond, as if they were already yielding to the inevitable destruction that would surely follow.

Dark eyes flitted their attention to the reflection in the glass where he could make out Rimmer’s distant profile. Head bowed as he stood still and silent, the bangs of his wig hung across the knotted concentration of his brow. The bullet wounds on his back were pulsing rapidly as his lightbee got to work on the self-repair.

Lister shook his head, suddenly very weary. “How d’you do it, man?” 

Blinking his eyes open, Rimmer glanced across to him. “No idea,” he admitted flatly. He grimaced awkwardly as his chest buzzed white hot once again. “I think it's just a programme downloaded into my ‘bee. I usually just keep schtum for a few minutes to let it run its course -- ”

With a roll of the eyes, Lister turned back to face him. “That's not what I meant, you silly smegger,” he chided warmly. He leant back against the glass, feeling the fine vibrations of the engines as they buzzed up his spine. “I meant the whole ‘Ace’ gig. How the smeg do you get your head around it all? Dimensional anomalies and all that?”

Rimmer’s mouth bunched in a facial shrug. “Well it's pretty straightforward when you get used to it.” Pained, his eyes screwed shut once again. “If you try not to think about it too hard.”

Lister winced sympathetically. “Nirvanah said that your job was to remove any threats or disruptions to pre-set timelines, right?”

There was a wary pause as Rimmer regarded the last human - his sole charge - from the corner of his eye. “Well, that's the basics, certainly,” he acknowledged, steering the conversation firmly away from _that_ particular point. “Change something in Reality and Time is forced to re-align itself accordingly. It could be anything - from rescuing a single person to overthrowing a dictatorship.”

“I get _that,_ ” Lister acknowledged. “But how do you know which changes need to be made in which dimensions?”

“Causality is a very difficult balance to maintain,” the hologram conceded; hazel eyes reflecting a solemn respect that rarely surfaced. “But it makes the job a hell of a lot easier when Rose is there to interpret where the DJ Drive wants us to go next.”

It was at this point of the conversation that Lister really wished that there was some form of guidance notes to support these supposed ‘basics’. “Where the DJ Drive _wants_ you to go?” he echoed, confused.

A playful grin quickly chased away the sincerity, the sparkle in his eyes now lit with her spirit. “Wildfire’s like a moth to the flame,” he explained. “Drawn to the realities that are dangerously unstable so that I can go in and fix them.” Rimmer shrugged loosely. “Restore the balance, as it were.”

At Lister's blank look, he allowed a subtle sigh of irritation. “I know it’s a difficult concept to get your head around,” Rimmer acknowledged. He pursed his lips in mock-innocence as he regarded the ceiling. “It's like the mind-boggling notion of what Kris ever saw in you for instance.”

Lister’s face clouded, unimpressed. “Your point being?”

“It’s why you sometimes see good girls fall for bad boys,” he quickly clarified. “They’re addicted to the danger; convinced that they can change the problem and feel compelled to try and fix them.” Rimmer nodded encouragingly. “Same premise with Wildfire. She feels drawn to dangerous dimensions so that we can change causality for the better.”

Lister slowly echoed his nod, chewing over the prospect. “In a weird and twisted way, Rimmer, you’re beginning to make sense.”

The hologram offered a grateful smile before blinking awkwardly as the bullet wounds on his back began to pulse faster. Another minute or so and the self-repair programme would be complete.

Breathing warm, clammy air into his hands, Lister rubbed them together quickly. “Are there realities you can’t fix?”

Rimmer blew a jet of air past his lips. “It’s rare,” he conceded. “But sometimes a dimension has too many anomalies for the Universe to handle. They become ‘Invalid Realities’.”

Lister nodded, warming to the theme. They’d encountered the prospect before, back when the Joy Squid had sent them back to Earth in a hallucinogenic trip. Katerina Bartakovski had tried to make them believe that their dimension was not real - an ‘Invalid Reality’.

“If a dimension is too volatile to hold together as it currently exists, then that dimension can risk a rather explosive destruction. A destruction so powerful it can also destroy all connecting dimensions that follow along a similar timeline.” Rimmer glanced grimly out of the window. He had a horrible suspicion that this would prove to be a case in point.

“However, if the DJ Drive identifies it as a point of instability, it can utilise an external power source to isolate the dimension and perform a manual closure, which ensures that it's destroyed cleanly.” Rimmer gave a tilt of the head. “It's not something I've had to perform myself yet, but it's certainly been something my predecessor has had to do once before. It’s all part of Act Five-One -- ” he slowed, eyes widening. “ - Three.”

_513._

His vision seemed to flash back for a moment, to the image of his predecessor that Juno had showed him. How the man had been desperately signalling those same three numbers over and over again. 

“Hey,” Lister prodded verbally. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just -- ” Rimmer paused, uncertain, “ -- thinking.”

Lister snorted, wedging in a dig of his own. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

With a quick reprimanding glance, Rimmer let it slip by. “You see, this dimension - number 23101986K - is already a bit of an odd fish. According to my predecessor’s notes, it was a hashed-together, regenerated dimension following the battle with your future selves. When they killed you, and themselves in the process, the reality became so unstable that - ”

Lister nodded, understanding. “ - two timelines had to merge to cope with the paradox.” 

“Ah!” Impressed, Rimmer snorted loudly. “So you are capable of paying attention occasionally.”

The Scouser folded his arms, regarding him from under the hood of a cocked eyebrow. “My fist is also capable of paying attention - particularly to the facial region.”

Rimmer parried back an eyebrow of his own but moved on quickly. “Since then, this dimension has had more changes than a baby’s bum. A freak wormhole stranded Kochanski here from another dimension. Then Red Dwarf’s dead crew - including _votres truly_ \- were accidentally brought back to life.” 

Suddenly there was a final flash of light that erupted from Rimmer’s back before fading away contentedly. As Rimmer stretched and twisted in experimentation, Lister could see how the projection was now flawless once more. He shook his head with a distant awe. That was one hell of a neat little trick.

“All these changes to causality have rendered this dimension less stable than an IKEA flat pack shelving unit,” Rimmer continued. “It's already a cracking layer of ice as it is. I'm guessing that the simulants’ bastardised manipulation of both the DJ Drive and my predecessor has been enough to tip it over the -- ”

Rimmer tailed off, distracted, as curious eyes were drawn to the stars. Lost in thought, his boots trod steadily across the deck as he closed the gap between himself and the window.

“Rimmer?”

The hologram stretched out his arm, raising his thumb to the skyline vertically, then horizontally, then vertically once more. As if he were an artist surveying the masterpiece that was the cosmos. “Isn't this the Delta Sector?” he murmured distantly.

Lister nodded slowly, pursing his lip. “Think so. Why?”

“Some of these constellations are incomplete -- ” Narrowed eyes continued to study the now-unfamiliar patterns before his hand dropped, comprehending. “The stars are disappearing,” he breathed. “The dimension has already begun to disintegrate.” 

Realisation dawned on his features, as if the final pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slot into place. His fingers fumbled nervously, unawares, at the faint outline the Jadestone was making in his pocket. The Blerions had predicted that he'd need it when the time came - but for what, they had refused to determine. _Tick tock, tick tock._

“We need to think of another way of getting you back to Wildfire,” Rimmer managed. “And quickly.”

Lister’s eyes searched Rimmer’s as they stared off into the stars, his mind clearly elsewhere. Something in his stomach churned uncomfortably. “Rimmer, man, I can help you get the DJ Drive back,” he implored, gathering up the backpack. “Two heads have gotta be better than one, surely?”

But Rimmer was no longer listening. Instead, his mind was now running rampant with the mirror's prediction of his fate. _If it meant saving him, then - ?_ He dismissed them both with a bat of the hand.

“How many times?!” he snapped, finally meeting the man’s stare. “I've been doing this without you for the last two years, Lister. I can do this without you too.”

Lister blinked, wounded. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Why are you acting like this?”

Despite not needing to breathe, Rimmer’s chest was rising and falling visibly. “It's like I told you,” he mumbled eventually. “I can't do this job when there's emotional ties.”

Lister swallowed. He'd known both incarnations of the man for over three million years. He could read him like a book; they didn't need the exchange of words to understand one another. He gave a tight nod in reply.

As Rimmer turned to the door, Lister’s eyes narrowed subtly. 

He could also tell when he was lying.


	23. The Unspoken Destiny: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Veronica_Rich for her wonderful song recommendation - "Like a Bird Set Free" by Sia - which really helped to inspire this chapter.

Slipping silently through the shadows, the pair wound their way through unfamiliar corridors. The walls still flashed with the red warning lights that threatened to expose them; the net that was slowly and surely closing in.

“So how the smeg do you suggest getting outta here without a teleportation signal back to Wildfire, eh?” Lister hissed. “Carrier pigeon? Or are you suggestin’ I pick up the Number 42 from round the corner?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Rimmer rolled his eyes. “It's all about being inventive,” he bit back, shooting him a strange look. “Since when did you become so conventional?”

The man tilted his head in allowance before his bemusement at the premise curled at his lip. David Lister bemoaning a lack of options whilst Arnold Rimmer buoyed them up with a determined optimism? The entire cosmos had turned upside down.

“Besides, you're a pilot, right?” Rimmer flicked him a challenging eyebrow before gesturing down the corridor to the Landing Bay beyond. “What's to say we can't hack into a transport craft in order to get you out of here? I'm sure you’ve hot-wired a vehicle or two in your time, I'd wager?”

Lister’s entire face lit up at the prospect. “Brutal!” he nodded.

The pair sprinted through the Landing Bay doors and glanced around excitedly. Their eager pace slowed before grinding to a halt, their footsteps still echoing across the dim, empty expanse.

“Ah,” said Lister flatly. “Well, it _would_ have been a good idea, if the smegging Landing Bay hadn't been as abandoned as a James Last concert.”

Spinning back to face him, Rimmer scowled in genuine affront despite the more pressing situation. “Excuse me, miladdo!” he snapped. “I'll have you know that his 2015 Cologne event was a sell-out.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Bingo halls don't count, y’know.”

“The man was an utter legend of his time -- ” Rimmer’s words died on his tongue as hazel eyes snagged on something over the man’s shoulder. “Get back!” he yelled desperately.

It only took a quick glance back through the doorway for Lister to realise, with a sudden lurch of the stomach, that there was a staggeringly large horde of simulants rapidly gathering at the far end of the corridor, clearly in search of them. 

As they clocked their whereabouts and began racing towards them with levelled weapons, Rimmer hauled Lister backwards by the jacket out of harm's way, whipping out a gun and firing repeatedly at the door’s control panel until it exploded in a flurry of sparks. Defaulting to an auto-lockdown, the heavy metal door slid closed with a resounding thud.

Half-wrenched from his shoulders, Lister quickly shrugged both the jacket and the rucksack back into place. “You can’t be serious!” he moaned.

Now that the immediate danger had been dealt with, Rimmer picked up the bickering where they’d left off. “No honestly, it's true. When we get out of here, I'm going to play you the _Hammond A Go Go_ album. It's an absolute winner.”

Lister glanced back to the door grimly. As threats went, he struggled to decide which was the most terrifying.

Tugging him by the arm, Rimmer raced across the hauntingly empty bay. “Come on! Time for Plan B!” he chirped, as if escaping from a horde of murderous simulants was another typical Thursday in the office. “In here!”

Rimmer bundled him into a Mechanic Suite, a room no larger than Starbug’s cockpit and midsection combined. As Rimmer locked down the door behind them, Lister’s eyes darted about the grimy walls that were lined with tools and welding equipment. “Rimmer, it's a dead end!”

“For smeg’s sake, just _trust_ me,” the hologram groused. 

Plucking a spanner from the wall, Rimmer crouched down to the air vent that sat nonchalantly in the far corner of the room and set to work spinning off the bolts that fixed it to the wall. “Let me get the door for you, sir,” he grinned.

Lister’s stomach plummeted. “You seriously suggesting we go through the ducts?” he mumbled, suddenly feeling like he had a mouth full of cotton wool. 

As Rimmer wrenched off the grate, Lister lowered the rucksack to the ground and peered inside. Distant metallic clangs sounded against the whooshing of air pressure currents that echoed eerily from its dark depths.

“Lister, if we make use of the ventilation system, we can negotiate our way back to the Cargo Hold.” Rimmer’s eyes glazed over slightly, pulling up the files from his short-term memory downloads. “The map shows that there's a cargo teleporter there. We can try and use that.”

Nervous hands tugged and twiddled at the worn leather of his sleeves as he swallowed audibly. “Rimmer, I - I can't -- ”

Blinking his confusion before the realisation sank in, Rimmer’s expression quickly gave way to sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he winced, “but we’re rather out of options.” He gave a tight, reassuring nod. “Just keep your breaths long and slow. You'll be fine, I promise -- ”

Rimmer tailed off, as if his own reassurances had suddenly struck a strange deja vu. He pulled back to stand, slowly turning around to take in the all-too-familiar surroundings. His gaze was snared by the sign above the door that named the expanse beyond - _Landing Bay 13_ \- a location innocuous enough to most, but one that had haunted him for the last 18 months.

“Oh, god - ” he breathed, stricken eyes flitting across the dark, foreboding room through the glass. “This is it.”

His own fears slipped back as Lister slowly stood, carefully regarding the man as he stood now rooted to the spot. The pulsing red lights flickered intermittently; illuminating the distant panic that had begun to imprison his features before casting them into shadow once more. “Rimmer?” he ventured, the same panic now beginning to pool in his gut. “You okay?”

Wheeling round, Rimmer grabbed him by the arms, his eyes flaring with an urgency Lister had never seen before. “Listen carefully, you don't have much time,” he barked. “Remember what I told you about the cargo teleporter? To reach it, you need to head back about half-way across this landing bay and then left for about 50 metres.”

Glancing over his shoulder in agitation, Rimmer quickly drew his weapons, checking off his remaining bullets. “If you drop down into the neighbouring room there, you should find it. Begin the local sweep, ‘ship search’, and look for ident code 211-284.”

Rimmer released the near-spent cartridges before reloading with the guns from the additional ammo strapped to his belt. “The teleporter isn't really calibrated for human tissue so it might mean it's a bit of a rough jaunt. Of course there's the chance of being turned inside out and -- ” Rimmer caught the look of bewilderment plastered across Lister’s face. “ -- I'm getting the sense I’m not really selling this very well - ”

Dark eyes darted between the guns and the grim look now etched across Rimmer’s features. The unsteady waver in the hologram’s tone had been enough to scatter forth a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. Lister had a horrible suspicion of what the man was planning. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he probed meaningfully. Rimmer’s wordless reply spoke volumes, and Lister shifted uncomfortably in the silence. “Rimmer?”

Finally Rimmer sighed, now unable or unwilling to look him in the eye. “Because if I go with you then we only have about four minutes before they break through the door, which isn't enough time to reach the teleporter,” he managed. Ammo now loaded, he snapped the slides back into position. “If I can distract them - hold them off as long as I can - you may get ten.”

Lister quickly back-pedalled, as if to steer them back from the dark path that Rimmer had started to traverse with a frighteningly decisive step. “No way, man,” he dismissed with a snort. There had to have been fifteen, perhaps twenty simulants beyond that door. Even as Ace, it would be game over. “There's gotta be another option.”

“The alternative option is the simulants capturing you,” Rimmer stated bluntly. “And believe me, as the last human, you don't want to end up in the hands of a simulant.”

Something very sobering seemed to sit behind the man’s stare, as if he himself were versed in the unspeakable torturous horrors that the simulants could unleash upon their captives. Lister swallowed hard. “Rimmer, you don't have to do this alone - ”

Rimmer’s face caved in mourning, focusing steadfastly on his weaponry rather than the man in front of him. “Yes, I do.”

Exasperated with being continually pushed away, Lister dug in his heels. “Why? Rimmer, I can help you fight them off. I've given plenty of beasties the business end of a bazookoid in my time. If you give me one of your spare guns -- ”

The hologram exhaled shakily before his trademark scowl settled back comfortably on his features like an oft-used shield. “For smeg’s sake, Lister, are you incapable of following simple instructions?” he snapped. “If they catch you they will torture and kill you. Why are you arguing over this?” 

Shrugging off the man’s usual snarky retorts as an obvious deflection, Lister pushed harder. “No worse than what they'd do to you!” he parried back. “So tell me _why_.”

“Lister --! ”

“ _Tell_ me!”

Growling in frustration at the man’s persistent stubbornness, Rimmer’s words blurted out before he'd had a chance to reel them back. “Because the mirror showed me this would happen!”

Lister blinked, confused. “The what?”

There was an irritable sigh. “You wouldn't understand - ”

“What wouldn't I understand?”

“Ugh. Don't get me started on _that_ list,” Rimmer rolled his eyes. “I'd never finish.”

Despite the urgency, Lister plucked at the loose thread. “ _Rimmer,_ ” he pressed. “You’re avoiding the question. Answer me straight.” Suddenly he noticed the disconcerting fear that flickered in the depths of the hologram’s eyes. Lister’s voice dropped low to join it. “What are you not telling me?” he asked carefully.

Rimmer drummed nervous fingers against the steel handles of his guns. “The prophecy, my fate, this - ” The words died, helpless, on his lips as he sank against the wall, head resting back against the grimy surface as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“The Blerions worship a mirror that holds the ability to reveal your deepest fears,” he explained, quivering. “Even show you your fate if you're ready to face it. The prophecy that the Blerion fortune-teller told you about my predecessor?” He gave a small mourning nod. “The mirror had showed him the same thing. Before the memory wipe, he'd have known it was going to happen to him eventually.”

Concern tugged at Lister’s brow as he tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. “What did it show you, Rimmer?”

The pair whipped back to the door beyond as the simulants hammered relentlessly at the entrance to the Landing Bay. Rimmer’s face retreated, as if the sounds were akin to his death knell. Finally he straightened, steeling himself to confess the fate that he’d kept to himself for so long. 

“That I would die saving the last human,” he mumbled. His chest began to heave as he finally looked him straight in the eye, flared nostrils releasing increasingly panicked breaths as his mouth set firm. “That protecting him would be the death of me.”

Lister blinked, unsteady, as if Rimmer’s words had dealt him a physical blow. “You what?” he breathed.

Pained, Rimmer turned away to glance out through the view window, struggling to rein back so many words unsaid. 

“No.” Trembling visibly, Lister fought to snare eye contact. “Tell me you're yanking my chain.”

As the reality of what was about to happen began to drip feed through his being, the instinctive bitterness burst through the dam and Rimmer wheeled back to face him. “You just _had_ to come along, didn't you?” he demanded suddenly. 

Wounded, Lister reeled at the sudden outburst. His mouth gaped open, the words struggling to form. “I was trying to help -- ”

“I mean, just _once_ could you not actually listen to my advice and wait behind?” Despite the frustrated anger that pulsed through his being, Rimmer’s eyes grew watery as he glared at him straight. “But I know what happens. I hold them off long enough for you to safely reach the teleporter, and then they -- ” he swallowed hard. “I've seen it.”

The shock began to make Lister’s head swim dizzy. “No way,” he insisted, head now shaking vehemently. “I've already lost one of you, I'm not losing you too, man.”

Embarrassed by his outburst, Rimmer sighed raggedly. “I’m sorry, it's not your fault.” His face began to pinch with sadness as he shrugged helplessly. “But you and I both know - either I die or we both die,” he said simply; the truth of the situation hauntingly blunt. 

A deep and intense sorrow began to seep slowly through the pair of them. A chilling, comprehending silence in a shared mourning for the destiny that both bound them together and ripped them apart.

“I know it's a tad cowardly to be in-keeping with the Job Description,” Rimmer tilted his head apologetically. “But I’m afraid I have to admit that I don't particularly fancy dying again right now, so I guess I’m just feeling rather - erm - ” 

Rimmer blinked rapidly, his gaze snagging distractedly on the dank corridor walls. He clammed back his lip in a gesture he hoped would imitate bravery rather than the fear that he was currently radiating. However, he dismissed it rapidly. “ - well, scared smegging shitless to be honest.” 

“Don't say that about yourself,” Lister replied flatly, the angry tears beginning to gather in his eyes. His voice dropped so low, it could barely be registered. “You're not a coward.”

Distant, angered shouts, muffled through the door beyond, snared their attention. The intensely vicious pounding began to intensify.

Stud-gloved hands retreated back into fists, swiping fiercely at watery eyes. “But you know what? Causality can kiss my arse for all I care,” Lister threatened shakily. “I'm not gonna let this happen.”

Despite standing on the precipice of mortality, Rimmer couldn't help but roll his eyes at the man’s anarchic dismissiveness. “Lister, only _you_ could pick a fight with Fate,” he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I'm going to die protecting a semi-literate, curry-scented gimboid who inadvertently signed my own death warrant.”

Rimmer blinked in realisation. “And yet?” He snorted, something in his voice steadying in the wake of the recognition as he glanced back to him. “Some stupid, strange part of me is really glad you're here.”

Lister quickly stood in front of him, as if to place some form of protecting boundary from the dark fate that waited beyond. “I don't care what y’say, Rimmer,” he asserted. “I'm not leaving you to do this by yourself.” 

He couldn't help but feel bound by the strange responsibility he felt for this nanobotic recreation. The man who had been thrust, unwilling and unready, into the utter madness of their secluded, stranded lives.

Height being his distinct disadvantage, Lister jabbed an authoritative finger into Rimmer’s chest. “I've never listened to anything you've ordered me to do before, y’know?” he challenged cockily before his face set solemn. “And sure as smeg I'm not starting now.”

A steady exhale relaxed out of hologrammatic lungs, as if the familiarity of Lister’s gerbil-faced optimism and disobeying nature were a strange, reassuring comfort. Something new began to dawn on Rimmer’s face in the thoughtful silence before he reeled it all back with a sniff. 

Gesturing over his shoulder, Rimmer nodded back to the bag still sat by the ventilation shaft. “Inside the rucksack there should be another pair of my guns,” he relented.

Cheeks bunching in a grateful smile, Lister slapped a rugged, self-conscious approval on Rimmer’s arm before allowing it to settle into a reassuring rub instead. “Thanks, man,” he nodded, which Rimmer echoed.

Lister trotted back to the bag and crouched down to start rifling through its contents. “You know it makes sense,” he called across the dark expanse of the room, relief flooding freely through his system. Sure, it was going to be a pitched gun-battle against a hoard of armour-plated killing machines, but the notion of a sacrifice in his name was a prospect far more frightening to comprehend.

“I mean, no-one should have to face - ” He frowned into the bag’s dark depths, confused. _Radio...harness...flask of tea…_ “Whereabouts did you say the guns were?”

The hauntingly familiar double-beep of the keypad snared his attention as Rimmer punched in the command to open the door. He shook his head as he threw Lister a final glance from the doorway.

“I'm sorry, Listy.”

“Rimmer, no!”

Lister’s sprung to his feet but had barely made it halfway back before the door slid closed. As he made a final, desperate scrabble for the keypad on his side, Rimmer quickly flipped back his gun until the barrel sat in his palm and cracked it down twice as hard as he could onto his own panel. The door locked down with a satisfying hum.

Through the sparking, smoking mess that the control panel had now become, Rimmer raised an amused eyebrow to him through the glass as he flipped back his gun. “Sod the hacking. I must say, I do prefer your hands on approach,” he panted.

Lister pounded on the glass with his fist. “Rimmer!” he hollered as loudly as he was able. “Rimmer, let me out!” he pleaded. “You don't have to do this!”

Framed through the glass, the small smile that tugged at the corner of Rimmer’s mouth seemed to serve as his final portrait. “I know,” he soothed, a small nod punctuating it. “And it’s okay.”

Turning away, Rimmer steeled himself against the sound of Lister’s desperate cries as he hammered on the door that now separated them. Lister couldn't possibly have known it, but his words had suddenly allowed everything slot into place. 

Being afraid was not the antithesis of being brave; in fact, together they made what he was about to do an even greater achievement. Just as walking knowingly to a pre-destined death didn't make it any less his decision. Regardless of whether or not he'd borne witness to his fate, he'd have still protected Lister with everything he had to give. Not only because it was his duty, but because it was his _choice_. 

Rimmer’s ears pricked up to the straining _screech_ of the door’s metal as it began to warp and strain under what only could be a telekinetic force. Features firming, he trained his guns in readiness. And as the metal released a low mourn for his final minutes before the end, Rimmer exhaled steadily.

“I am Ace,” he told himself firmly. “And I’m ready.” The last part of Arnold that still remained cocked his head in allowance. “ - ish.”


	24. Caterpillars and Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I often like writing to music, and this piece called "The Time Has Come" by Tobias Marberger & Gabriel Shadid (whose amazing music was also used in 'Back to Earth') seemed to set the scene perfectly. You can have a listen at https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8xv3kydc2SM
> 
> ******
> 
> "How does one become a butterfly?" She asked pensively.  
> “You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.”  
> “You mean to die?” She asked.  
> “Yes and no,” he answered. “What looks like you will die but what’s really you will still live. Life is changed, not taken away. Isn’t that different from those who die without ever becoming butterflies?”
> 
> \- Excerpt from “Hope For The Flowers” by Trina Paulus

Rimmer knew what was coming. 

He knew what - or rather who - was waiting for him beyond that door. His face had haunted him for months now. The only mystery had been _when_.

The metal of the door gave one last aching moan as it twisted unnaturally. Long, lean fingers rippled like a wave against the handles of his guns, resettling in readiness in the final, loaded silence. The agonising, haunting wait was over. It was time to make peace with the destiny that awaited him.

A powerful blast threatened to sweep Rimmer backwards as the door finally gave way to a telekinetic force beyond comprehension. Digging in his heels, he held firm as hazel eyes screwed shut against the fury of the explosion.

Startled, Lister staggered back from the doorway, hovering torn. The adrenaline began to pulse insistently through his system, awaiting uncertainly for its next instruction; like it had reached the end of the play and run out of script. His mind had upped three gears into Survival Mode, screaming at him to run. But his heart rooted him to the spot, pounding an insistent rhythm of loyalty to try and help --

\-- but help, how? He felt completely and utterly useless. Though it wrenched unnaturally at his most basic of drives, he had to admit that Rimmer was right. His waiting behind did nothing but give the simulants the chance of a cheap thrill if they captured him. 

His survival instinct threw him a futile bone. _If you get back to Wildfire,_ it promised him, _you can fetch help_.

Buried deep down, a sad, insistent part of him knew that it was already too late. But he silenced it quickly, allowing this lifeboat of a chance to buoy him up and push him in the vague direction of safety. Defeated, Lister’s eyes sank closed before he tore himself away, as if he were too pained to bear witness to his own act.

Tugging on the straps of the backpack, Lister stared nervously into the dark void of the air vent, the claustrophobia crawling icily up his spine before snaring him tightly by the throat. He could almost feel his Paranoia drape a cold, thin arm across his shoulders, sneering at him nasally.

Finally he released a shuddered breath, swallowing it back in characteristic defiance. If Rimmer could sacrifice his life to save him, then he could smegging well overcome his fears and do this. Lister clambered, shaking, into the narrow darkness and tried to calm his mind’s panicked ranting enough to allow Rimmer’s directions to surface - _up into the ducts, half-way across the Landing Bay, then left at the intersection to head to the Cargo Hold and reach the teleporter..._

As the echo of the explosion died away, Rimmer blinked his eyes open experimentally against the curls of smoke that stretched lazily through the now open doorway. Although his trigger-finger itched, he staved off the urge and waited. Every bullet was sacred if Lister was to stand his best chance of survival. Every shot needed to be a direct hit.

Simulant silhouettes grew darker through the smoke before the droids themselves emerged one by one from the hazy depths. Rimmer’s eyes flitted across each of them in turn, assessing their weaponry and pressure point locations, before narrowing in determination as the final, familiar figure emerged. 

“Howdy.” Rimmer’s tight greeting slipped out from behind trained guns. “I had a feeling I might see you again.”

The dark, foreboding shadow of what was once Ace stared back at him coolly. Inky-black eyes flicked beyond him to the locked-down door before settling on his successor. 

_“If you think you can protect him, then you are a fool,”_ he spat, the familiar voice distorted with the digitised feedback of a simulant. _“The others may have escaped, but my master knows the last human is here -- ”_

He cocked his head slowly to one side, in a manner that made him look eerily inhuman. A faint smile just registered on the edge of pale features. _“ -- and he wants to hear him scream. By the time my master is finished, he’ll be begging me to end his life.”_

Wincing imperceptibly at the horrific image, Rimmer’s features hardened into a scowl. “You'd have to kill me before I let you get within ten paces of him.”

His predecessor snorted dismissively. _“I can do so very much from ten paces,”_ he threatened evenly. _“Now, stand aside.”_

Mouth set firm, Rimmer’s nostrils flared as they jetted out a snort of defiance. “You and I both know that's not going to happen,” he said flatly.

There was a loaded pause. _“Then it will be my pleasure to watch you suffer.”_ Without tearing away his intense stare, the dark shadow of Ace angled his head back to the simulant guards that flanked him. Holding out a halting hand to the six on his left, he spoke aloud to the rest. _“You know the orders. Fetch the human.”_

The simulants charged towards him, the stale, recycled air erupting with rallying cries and gunfire. Wincing against the fierce onslaught of bullets that streaked past his cheeks and thudded into his chest, Rimmer returned fire, fast and furious. Whilst some shots missed their mark, others succeeded in hitting the pressure points on their necks - where metallic casing met organic matter. One by one, the exposed simulants nearer the front of the group jarred in a flurry of sparks before collapsing to the floor, twitching. 

A flurry of hollow _clicks_ signalled that he was out of bullets, and Rimmer exhaled shakily in the deafening chaos. He shoved aside the white-hot pain that radiated from his lightbee, pulsing angrily at the damage taken to his projection, and told it to ruddy well join the queue. More important matters were pressing as the remaining simulant guards closed the gap between them in order to take a more hands-on approach.

Quickly flipping back his guns so that the barrels rested in slick palms, Rimmer locked eyes with the nearest simulant before cracking the handle as hard as he could across its face. He hit out again and again as the simulants closed in, holding them off with a desperation that he'd never known before.

A flash of black metal out of the corner of his eye snatched his attention, and Rimmer glanced back in panic as he noticed a trio of simulants had slipped past the combat to race towards the door. In the seconds that he was distracted, the guard stood before him cracked the handle of his gun across his temple before head-butting him hard. 

Staggering back dizzily, Rimmer blinked back his vision enough to windmill back his arm, catching the simulant clean on the chin and snapping back his head. Reholstering his now-spent guns to grab the dazed droid by the shoulder plates, Rimmer braced a boot against its chestplate, rolled his weight backwards to the floor and hurled it over his head. His head whipped back to the clatter of shearing metal as the trio were knocked flying by their projectile colleague.

Rimmer gave a strangled yell as a thick length of chain flashed over his head and yanked back hard against his throat. The simulant dragged him backwards across the deck, boot scrabbling for a foothold as desperate hands clawed at the snare, before hoisting him upright to face another simulant; the butt of his gun poised and ready to administer a beating.

Before the simulant’s first hit could land, Rimmer tightened his grip on the chain to brace himself, grit his teeth and swung around as hard as he could. The simulants barrelled into one another, his captor slackening his grip enough for the hologram to bow his head forward before thrusting it back as hard as he could. Hearing the satisfying _crack_ against his captor’s prosthetic features, he thrust back his boot in a blunt mule kick before spinning back to crack the chain across the simulant’s face.

As the chain clattered to the floor in a snake-like coil before its charmer, Rimmer rubbed at his sore neck sullenly. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, in his own voice rather than Ace’s. 

The echoes of their conflict resonated across the expanse of the Landing Bay before dying away into an eerie silence. Although he’d single-handedly taken down fifteen simulants, the hologram was looking decidedly worse off for it. His colander of a projection pulsed with bullet wounds, his image beginning to buzz and distort at the edges.

Panting visibly, scowling hazel eyes tracked up to the six simulants that still flanked his predecessor. His own soulless eyes glared back at him.

 _“Stand aside,”_ came the low, threatening growl. _“You have no weapons. It's game over.”_

Unfazed, Rimmer rolled his eyes and turned back to the pipework that stretched across the length of the oily walls and curled up alongside the doorway. “Have you really forgotten your training?” he called back pointedly.

Wrapping lean fingers around the metal, he took the strain against a bracing boot, and wrenched a long section of pipe free. “It's all about being _inventive_.” Panicked jets of water immediately burst forth and pooled quickly on the deck, squelching footsteps tracking back to his protective position in front of the doorway.

Resting the pipe across his shoulder, Rimmer flicked a challenging eyebrow. “At least _one_ of us remembers how to be Ace.” 

A restrained rage twitched at the corner of his predecessor’s eyes but he remained still, yet to release the full extent of his telekinetic fury upon him. Confused, Rimmer steadied his breaths; the charged expectation chilling. Instead, he stared his death in the face and waited. 

It had only been a few months before, but the time he'd spent battling alongside the Kinitowawi had shown him what true bravery had looked like. Their fearlessness in war was unmatched; their fighting always unfazed and fierce. They would charge into battle like they knew they wouldn't return - that only the prospect of an eternal legacy would be left of them.

Their war chant - the _Morkhta_ \- was the stuff of legend, and hearing it first-hand was an experience that would never leave him. Rimmer could still feel the resonation of the infectious drumming as they pounded their shields and chests to frighten their enemies; firing up their own ferocity that would give them the strength they needed to defeat them. He could still hear the fierce cries of ancient Kinitowawi - _Si hata! Si morta!_ \- hurled across the crisp, dawn air of the battlefield, the final words that many of them would ever hear.

And right now, as Rimmer stood in his final moments, he was overcome by a compulsion to pay his respects to the league of the fallen that he himself would soon join. He would show them all, show himself, that he was ready.

_If it meant saving him, then so be it._

Rimmer let the fear, the pride and the unbridled anger channel through him, embracing it wholly until it began to pulse a new rhythm. Gripping the pipe hard, he let it slip from his shoulder until it drummed against the deck with a deep, resounding _clang._

He glared back in challenge at his dark and twisted shadow, raising the pipe again before drumming it hard once more with another _clang_. In the loud echo that filled the vast expanse of the Landing Bay the ancient chant began to slip past his lips, unchecked.

 _“Si hata,”_ he breathed. _“Si morta.”_

 _CLANG._ The pipe drummed against the deck, the echo resounding proudly.

 _“Si hata!”_ Rimmer chanted, now loud enough to hear. _“Si morta!”_

 _CLANG._ He hit harder this time, the water that had inched towards him now cast up in explosive bursts with each drum.

_“Si hata! Si morta!”_

_CLANG_

_“Si hata! Si morta!”_

_CLANG_

Something almost imperceptible shifted in the depths of the dark eyes before him, as if the _Morkhta_ had reached something far beyond what could be seen. But in a blink it was gone, with a flick of the fingers that could only signify one outcome.

And as the simulants charged forward to take him down, Rimmer’s face retreated into a primal snarl, scraping back the pipe to raise it in readiness. He’d kneed Death in the bollocks once. Indeed, it may have won the last round, but if it was coming for him again, this time he'd go out fighting.

Rimmer waited until the optimum moment; the precise distance required between himself and the nearest simulant before he swung the pipe as hard as he could. With an almighty _crack_ , the simulant’s head split in a crazed flurry of sparks before the lifeless droid crumpled to the deck. He swung the pipe back hard, a second simulant sentenced to the same, explosive fate.

A third simulant grabbed hold of the pipe, growling as it furiously tried to wrench it from his grasp. Taking the strain, Rimmer swung the simulant back towards the spurting jet of water and immediately let go, like he was dropping a scorpion that he'd just disturbed on the job. Locked fast in the pulsing jet, the droid howled, spasming in a crackle of electricity as its system short-circuited and shut down.

Half-turning to fend off the next assailant, Rimmer barely had time to react as an impossibly strong hand grabbed a fistful of his wig and slammed him hard, head-first, into the door. As a hard-light hologram, it was impossible to knock him out with a blow to the head. But the sudden, blunt impact to his sensory feedback, coupled with the extensive damage already done to his lightbee, was enough to stun him for a moment as he sank dizzily down the metal surface before slumping onto the floor.

Now defenceless on the deck, the remaining simulant trio swamped him like ravenous vultures devouring their prey, raining down blow after merciless blow. The approaching footsteps and a dismissive wave of the hand was enough to scatter them one more.

 _“Weak and pathetic,”_ spat his predecessor as he peered down at the dazed, groaning man. _“But what else was to be expected from a mere imitation?”_ His lip curled in disgust, like Rimmer were something that he'd just scraped off his shoe. _"A secondary image that I inadvertently spawned that insists on usurping my name again and again.”_

Slowly, painfully, walking back his hands, Rimmer’s arms shook visibly as they struggled to support his weight. “It's true, I may not have been _born_ Arnold Rimmer,” he admitted shakily, before fixing his predecessor with a marked glare. “But sure as hell, I _am_ Ace - ” he insisted; a sad yet determined defiance in the wake of everything the man had ever robbed from him. “ - and that's something you can never take away from me.”

Something menacing, yet horribly familiar, shifted in his predecessor’s stare as he wrenched Rimmer from the ground with an invisible grip and pinned him against the door. And as the hologram brandished a hand that danced hypnotically with telekinetic energy, Rimmer knew, with a sickening sense of premonition, what was about to happen.

It was well-documented in the JMC leaflet entitled _Your Death and How to Cope With It_ , that the power required to generate a hard-light hologram every second was enough to light up Paris for three years. And thanks to the holovirus that was currently devouring its victim’s power source before re-releasing it in the form of telekinetic energy, Rimmer was about to feel every dreaded volt course through his system.

From the hidden darkness of the ducts above the Landing Bay, Lister froze as Rimmer began to scream, the man’s agonised cries paralysing. Despite the nightmarish sounds of gunfire and combat that had held dominion, he'd been consoled by hearing Rimmer’s voice intermittently; reassured that he was still alive. His cries of pain suggested that this wouldn't be the case for much longer.

The grate ahead flashed and spasmed with a cold, blue light that now pierced through the gloom. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Lister desperately inched his way across to the grate and peered down carefully. With a quick glance around the expanse, he realised that he was almost halfway across the Landing Bay, probably close to the intersection. Whatever was happening to Rimmer, he was too far forward to see.

The fear threatened to overwhelm him as Rimmer remembered that this was the final image the mirror had showed him; the pained and panicked image of his dying self reflected in the black, merciless stare of his alter ego. Fighting past the excruciating torture that smothered his senses, Rimmer fought for his voice to be heard. 

“I didn't choose to be your nanobotic resurrection!” he cried, angered and desperate. “I didn't choose to lose my life to a simulant in one of your battles!” Locked in a fierce onslaught of pain, Rimmer forced the words beyond gritted teeth. “But I do choose this! I'm finally choosing my own destiny, even if it does mean dying for it.”

In the blinding blue flashes that coursed between them, the movement was slight but still perceptible. Blinking hard against the shocks that savaged his system, for just a second Rimmer's eyes flitted, unawares, across to the ceiling ducts. Black eyes pinched questioningly before narrowing in suspicion. Rimmer gasped as the electricity was suddenly wrenched from his system.

 _“If your destiny was of my choosing, I'd happily kill you now,”_ he said flatly. _“But my master has further plans for you.”_

Grappling back the breath he didn't need, Rimmer’s mask of determination began to slip, confused. The disjointed confusion surrounding his predecessor’s restraint seemed to suddenly click into place. “You’re not going to kill me?” he croaked.

Although the words remained unsaid, the disappointment and frustration was more than apparent. _“There's still a rather important task you have to perform for my master,”_ he groused. _“It seems you’ll be better use to him alive.”_ A callousness, that even Rimmer was incapable of, twisted familiar features into a wholly unrecognisable expression. _“But he didn't say anything about not having a little fun with you first.”_

Rimmer cried out as the telekinetic energy began to lance through his projection once more. Feeling himself slip backwards into the warm, soothing darkness that he could sense below, he fought to stay conscious. He groaned painfully as haunting whispered words hissed in his ear.

_“If my master chooses to keep you then who knows? Maybe you will be the one who makes the human scream in agony.”_

Stepping back with a nasal snort, his predecessor’s face hardened as he wrenched back the telekinetic energy, the last of the electricity now skipping playfully across his fingers. _“Now -- get out of the way!”_ With a dismissive gesture he cast Rimmer back, sending him catapulting across the Landing Bay.

Lister stifled back a shocked gasp as the battered hologram skidded to a halt directly below him, his head drooping to one side. He made no move to get up. Instead, Rimmer’s image flickered furiously as the lightbee fought to restore normal transmission. 

His eyes narrowed, desperately straining to see Rimmer’s face. The man was clearly unconscious but he was still alive. The once-iconic jacket had been half-ripped from his back and now lay splayed across spread arms; like the torn, broken wings of a -- 

The panicked breaths suddenly caught in Lister’s throat. Despite the desperate situation, the image tugged insistently at a memory, long-forgotten. The words that Ace had once used to describe each Rimmer’s transformation.

_“We all start off as caterpillars and turn into butterflies.”_

Lister’s breath steadied as he blinked quickly in realisation, recounting the prophecy that Rimmer had told him.

_“Protecting him would be the death of me.”_

\-- of _me._

He gave a shuddering gasp of relief at the new premise that was beginning to emerge, wings unfolding. The selfish, weasley cellmate that he'd once known was gone. In offering to willingly sacrifice himself to save another, the self-serving caterpillar had indeed died.

But this man below him was now something quite new. Reborn. Ace was now very much alive; the butterfly had finally emerged.

With a squealing wrench, the door to the Mechanic Suite was ripped from its housing before being thrown to one side, nonchalant. The trio of simulants immediately scuttled inside, casting aside sheets of metal and overturning tool crates.

“The human isn't here!” One of them growled. “It must have been a diversion.”

Soulless eyes glanced back briefly to the senseless hologram before tracking up to the ducts that ran across the length of the ceiling. A knowing smile crept across pale, drawn cheeks.

The simulant’s words seemed to jump-start Lister’s senses before knotting at his stomach. By lagging behind, he’d left himself dangerously exposed; and with no weapon and Rimmer out for the count, he was now very much alone.

Trying to keep his frightened gasps as low and calm as he was able, Lister began to crawl as quickly and as quietly as he could towards the Cargo Hold. The thin panels buckled imperceptibly under his weight, echoing a faint _thung_ with each careful movement. He winced at the sound but shook it off helplessly. Any faster and he'd be too loud, any slower and he risked getting caught. 

Suddenly, with a piercing _screech_ of metal, the entire section of duct wrenched downwards under some unseen force, bowing desperately before snapping in two. Lister cried out in shock as the now-open end of the duct swung downwards, threatening to spit him out onto the deck. 

Stuck in a crouched position as he began to plummet backwards, Lister instinctively braced himself against the walls of the metal cocoon. Wedging his boots in front of him and pressing his hands and shoulders back as hard as he could, he came to a squeaking, shuddering halt.

“No, no, no, no - !” Lister breathed. Panicked, he desperately tried to shimmy his way back up the dangling length of duct. But as the dark shadow of his former companion slid into view below him, he knew it was too late. 

The virus-ridden hologram fixed him with a stare from under hooded eyes, a tarantula smile crawled out to meet it. Lister gave a strangled whimper of terror as sweaty palms and exhausted, trembling legs began to slide down towards the inevitable.

 _“Come in, number 169,”_ came the dark, melodic taunt from below. _“Your time is up.”_


	25. The Last Human

Rimmer had one hell of a headache. Understandable, really.

After all, he'd been captured by the simulants, stripped of his weaponry, and his lightbee had taken so much damage it risked invalidating the warranty. 

Of course, there was also the small matter of their dimension now disintegrating beyond repair because it was following the incorrect timeline. Not forgetting that if he didn't sort it out sharpish, he risked failing his primary directive of keeping the last human - y’know - _alive_.

Still, he had to look on the bright side.

There were a couple of items to chalk up to the ‘Good Things’ board. Firstly, Lister’s conspicuous absence suggested that he had indeed made a successful escape. Rimmer smiled to himself sadly. Sure, that meant he was now alone but that's how he'd always worked best. 

And secondly, he had to remain somewhat cheery about the fact that he hadn't died. Well not yet anyway; especially given that his latest career choice was rather lacking when it came to long-term prospects. But right now he was still as alive as a hologram could be, and that meant there was still a chance that he could sort this whole sorry mess out.

As the simulant guards shoved him down the corridor, Rimmer surreptitiously tested the restraints that fastened his hands behind his back. It was no good. They were as fixed as a TV talent show.

The door ahead of them slid open to reveal the Drive Room of the S.S. Orion where, draped impassively in his captain’s chair, an all-too-familiar wicked grin was there to greet him.

“Welcome, Mr Rimmer!” Pizzak cheered, his deep, electronically-distorted voice echoing across the room. “Long time no see. Do hope you're enjoying your stay with us?”

Unfazed, Rimmer adopted the simulant’s playful grin as he was escorted inside. “Well, I must say the canapés are fantastic,” he joked pointedly. “The company?” He cocked his head as he glared at his predecessor standing in the droid’s shadow. “Not so much.” 

Pleasantries over, he needled straight onto business. “Got your note,” Rimmer grated, recalling the Post-It that the simulant had tacked onto Wildfire’s dashboard. “What do you _want_ , Pizzak?”

“I think it’s abundantly clear why I’ve invited you here.” Pizzak stated matter-of-factly, brandishing an arm towards the Dimension Jump Drive. Rimmer’s heart sank at the sorry sight; the ugly, snaking cables and cobbled connections that snared her unwillingly to the Orion’s own systems. 

“Whilst my trusty little servant here has been most obliging in his help with its inner workings, he advises me that without your unlock code, the DJ Drive is severely limited. It only seems capable of taking us to dimensions you've visited in the last few weeks - whilst the trail is still warm, as it were.” 

Pizzak rose from his chair, fingers wiggling in eager readiness as he crossed to the control panel beside it. “So we’re going to need your assistance in taking us for a little drive.”

“What, to go for a spot of lunch?” Rimmer asked dryly as he was marched towards his beloved machine. “Visit your doddery old mother or something - ?”

He froze. The dimension and coordinates were already pre-programmed in, staring back at him in silent expectation. Although he had never been there himself, his training had drilled them into the core of his electronic being. These were the most important details in the Universe, to be protected at all costs.

357240

35.65.472

“Where the hell did you get these - ?” Rimmer mumbled, his own voice slipping out, unchecked. The sentence had barely left his lips when he realised just exactly where – or who – Pizzak had obtained the coordinates from. Rimmer scowled at his predecessor, who simply raised a challenging eyebrow in response.

“So what do you think of my little protege?” Gloved hands clapped together in school-girl excitement. “It’s like having access to the Cheat Book for the Universe itself, it’s wonderful!” Pizzak marvelled playfully. “The secrets behind inter-dimensional travel, the locations of all the rebellion outposts - ” Eyes drilled into Rimmer’s as his voice took on a sinister, sing-song quality. “The coordinates for the Human Colony.”

Despite the panicked anger that had begun to claw its way up his spine, Rimmer managed a tight, polite chuckle. Keeping his voice as calm and lofty as possible, he looked Pizzak straight in the eye. “You do know that if you set foot within three million light years of that place, I’ll personally dismantle every single one of you,” he threatened with a forced smile.

The pair locked horns through an intense glare. Pizzak arched a double eyebrow, refusing to back down. “With your unlock code and an external power source to fuel the jump, we’ll finally be able to rid the cosmos of human vermin.”

Rimmer shook his head slowly. “You can paddle yourself to Silicon Hell in a leaky rowboat if you think I'm going to help you,” he replied flatly.

A horrible, ghastly smile slid across grey features. “You will if you want to keep your charge in one piece,” Pizzak threatened evenly as he pressed a ‘call’ button on the keypad beside him. 

The hologram whipped back to look over his shoulder as the door to the Drive Room slid open. Aghast, his mouth dropped open in horrified disbelief.

Pizzak chuckled unashamedly, gesturing for a reminder from his protege. “Now, what did you say the job description was again?” He regarded Rimmer pointedly. “Protect the last human, wasn't it?” 

Rimmer swallowed, his Adam’s apple plummeting into the pit of his stomach as Lister was frog-marched into the room, bound and gagged. Dark brown eyes were wide as they fought to speak without words.

Pizzak tutted teasingly at Rimmer’s expression. “Oh dear. We have gone a bit quiet, haven’t we?” he teased. “Frankly, it’s rather a relief to finally work out how to stop you from sprouting all that heroic bullshit and shut the hell up.”

The moment his gag was pulled off, Lister clambered to speak. “Rimmer, man, I'm sorry,” he mourned. “I didn't get there in time.”

Shackled hands pumped open and closed in agitation as he gave an irritable sigh through his nose. “Well that's rather evident,” he groused, clinging onto his ‘Ace’ voice by the tips of his fingers. 

At the somewhat comforting snark of his tone, Lister leapt onto it like a lifeline. “Hey, it's not like I meant to get captured!” he fired back, almost glad of something familiar in this surreal situation. “I didn't have enough time to escape!”

“I gave you _ample_ escape time!” Rimmer ground out.

The Scouser stared back at him open-mouthed, unable to process the fact that his old-cell mate was insisting on picking at a rather pointless loose thread, given the circumstances. He snorted dismissively. “It’s a poor workman that blames his _tools_ , y’know.”

Rimmer treated him to a raised eyebrow. “Well that's _one_ word I’d use to describe you right now.”

Pizzak’s attention flitted back and forth disbelievingly between the two men, like he was trying to keep up with a furious game of _Pong_ that had clearly been played before. “Are you two quite finished with your adolescent bickering?”

As if coming back to himself, Rimmer straightened. “It’s a well that never dries,” he admitted. “So it might be best if you continue with your _monologuing_ ,” he laboured over the word with an arch of the eyebrow. “Time is rather pressing right now after all.”

Delighting in the charged looks the pair were firing at one another, Pizzak grinned. “Oh now _this_ is interesting,” he smarmed, relishing the drama that seemed better suited to an episode of _Jeremy Kyle_. “I take it this little protector/charge scenario is a tad more complex than it initially appears?”

Rimmer’s face retreated, kicking himself inwardly for his stupidity. His first lesson of his training had laid down a strict law that Ace could not have any emotional ties for fear of them being exploited by his enemies. And now Pizzak was circling Lister like a shark eyeing up an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet.

“So let me guess what this one is then,” he chuckled, grabbing Lister by the cheeks with a large, gloved hand to jerk his face left to right in inspection. “Colleague? Companion?” Pizzak grinned back at him suggestively. “Or is he another _notch?_ ”

“Leave him out of this,” Rimmer replied tightly. 

The simulant gave Lister one last discerning look before releasing him. “You need to stop showing your cards, _Ace_ ,” he quipped. “It does you no favours.”

Rimmer’s face tightened into a scowl - the only defence he had - as Pizzak approached him slowly, their eyes locked together. The simulant stopped barely inches away from his face, dipping his head to whisper into his ear.

“Mind you, my servant here tells me that you’re rather new to all of this hero malarkey,” Pizzak mused, his tone unashamedly pedantic. “Not even two years.” He hissed through his teeth sympathetically.

Rimmer tried to keep his quivering to a minimum. The mystery behind Ace Rimmer’s ‘immortality’ was the Universe’s most important secret. If his enemies were to discover the truth about Ace’s multiple incarnations and take advantage of those weak points of transition, millions of lives across the multiverse would be put at risk.

The droid drew back to regard him once more. “Still, that probably explains why you cocked everything up so badly the first time we met, doesn’t it?”

Despite the bile threatening to rise in his throat, Rimmer bit his tongue and breathed slow and steady. Fighting against the instinctive urge to fire back projectile hostilities, he merely cocked an amused eyebrow and focused his energies on a different, yet equally familiar tack instead.

“And I bet since then you've been _dying_ for an excuse to see me again, eh?” Rimmer pouted mockingly. “What’s wrong, Pizzak? Did you miss me?” Hazel eyes wandered skyward in lofty abandon. “Let me guess - you just had to write me a love letter on a Post-It, _begging_ me to come round to your place.” 

Rimmer’s gaze tracked back curiously to the simulant’s reaction, revelling in the dangerous snarl that began to cloud Pizzak’s face. Bound and rendered physically powerless, he had nothing but words to war with. But banter meant _time_ , and time meant more of a chance to _think_.

He drew out a long theatrical sigh. “Delicious, really. How the head of the most powerful robotic race in the cosmos can so easily be brought to his knees when it comes to needing help from Ace Rimmer.”

At Pizzak’s tell-tale eye twitch, he went in for the kill. “Fretting in anxious wait to see if yours truly is going to take him to the big dance.” He leaned in, conspiratorially. “Do tell. Have you managed to pick out your dress yet?”

Riled, Pizzak grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him up to face height. With their noses barely millimetres apart, Rimmer could hear the threatening growl that rumbled in the depths of his chest-plate. Balancing precariously on the steel-capped toes of his boots, he couldn’t help but allow his face to split with a smug grin.

“Admit it. You’re just gagging for me to kiss you.”

The simulant closed his eyes momentarily, perhaps to quell the rising urge to force the hologram and the waste disposal unit to make imminent acquaintance. “Has anyone ever told you, Mr Rimmer,” he spat with unbridled fury, “that you are the most irritating entity in this entire cosmos?” 

Rimmer exchanged glances with Lister before returning to the simulant’s grey stare. He cocked his head in acceptance. “It has been said before, I can't deny it.”

With reluctant relent, Pizzak released him. Shrugging the torn remains of his jacket back into place, Rimmer cocked an unfazed eyebrow as the simulant turned back to stride towards his chair once more. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to the guard stood beside him. “I’ve got plenty to go round.” 

The teasing smack of Rimmer’s lips was swiftly answered with the guard’s _smack_ of his own as he cracked the butt of his gun across the hologram’s temple.

“OW! Smegging - ” Rimmer bit his tongue as he bent double, instantly reining back the old voice that threatened to seep through his swearing.

As if the gesture had been half-expected, Pizzak ignored the reprimand. “I’m fast running out of patience, Mr Rimmer,” he declared with a low sigh that echoed across the expanse of the Drive Room as he sank back into the cradle of the chair. His voice dropped low and hard, the stare of his cold eyes just as firm. “Unlock the DJ Drive.”

“Jeez, Pizzak!” Blinking carefully in pained experimentation, Rimmer regarded the simulant through one eye. “You expect me to actually remember the code if your staff keep insisting on whacking me round the noggin?”

“Come on, Mr Rimmer!” Pizzak goaded. “You need to focus on your job description! Protect your charge and take this - ” he glanced back to Lister, electronic eyes flitting across him in critical assessment. “ - _human_ \- ” the word was uttered rather dubiously, “ - to the Colony so he join the rest of his kind.” 

The simulant arched his fingers before him, tapping each one of them together in patient wait. “Oh, but don't mind us.” His dark eyes lit with a terrifying, murderous agenda. “We’ll just tag along for the ride.”


	26. The Darkest Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening of this chapter sees Rimmer back-reference a previous story in The Ace Chronicles called 'Blurry'. 
> 
> If you've already read it then great! You'll already be pretty familiar with the concept of The Colony and how it works.
> 
> However it's certainly not essential, as Rimmer rather helpfully outlines a lot of the key information you'd need to know ;-)

Lister gaped, the words sinking in quickly like butter on hot toast. “You what?!” he breathed, staring at his former bunkmate in challenge. “There's a human colony out there? And you didn't think to _tell_ me?”

Rimmer shuffled awkwardly, the scenario suddenly feeling akin to a husband getting hen-pecked in front of his work-colleagues. “It's not a place you can just pop across to when you fancy,” he strained through gritted teeth. “It's a dimensional anomaly. The Universe’s own sporadic creation to protect the last of the species. Rose has been trying to establish a way to reach it again for two years now.” 

The hologram’s attention turned to his predecessor as he continued. “Even during _his_ extended service, he only managed to find the place thanks to an unchartered dimension skid. Unfortunately so did the simulants.” He fired Pizzak a pointed look. “Or, more correctly, Mr Ugly here’s alter ego did.” 

Rimmer sighed, his manner of address shifting sadly to refer to a man long departed. “That version of Ace managed to rip them out of the dimension with him to save the Colony. But he had no choice but to close the dimension skid behind him to protect them from future threats.”

“Without the dimension skid and with no known wormhole to access it with, a deliberate jump to the dimension would take an excessive amount of power from an external source. And spring boarding such a jump from this dimension is likely to tear it into pieces.” 

The hologram glanced across to the long stretch of windows that arced across the Drive Room, where the ever-increasing tears across space continued to pulse a foreboding backdrop. “Mind you, you've clearly given yourself a head start already with this mess,” he spat, glaring at Pizzak hard.

As if looks could kill, the distorted echo of Ace swept past his master to stand before him defiantly. _“Indeed, an external power source is required,”_ he agreed pointedly. His eyes lit with a hidden agenda as he brandished a hand from behind his back, long lean fingers unfurling to reveal a horribly familiar, dark green gemstone. _“And you've so kindly brought it straight to us.”_

Rimmer’s hands tugged unthinking at his restraints as he attempted to check what would now be his empty pocket. _Oh smeg._ He and Lister exchanged a panicked glance.

Grinning wickedly, his predecessor began to rock the gemstone back and forth between his thumb and forefinger as his tongue rolled over carefully chosen words. _“And to think of all that time I spent ripping apart the civilisations of this dimension, searching for it.”_

The recycled ship air grew hauntingly cold as a slow, comprehending silence sank down Rimmer’s spine like ice water. “What have you done?” he whispered.

 _“My Master’s instructions were to search for the Jadestone. And that anyone who opposed us or proved uncooperative was to be wiped off the face of the cosmos.”_ The virus had stripped his voice unnaturally of all emotion. Instead, he palmed the gem in a steely grip, regarding his successor coldly. _“So I destroyed them all.”_

Rimmer paled, the Universe seeming to slow unnaturally in the sickened silence. “What - ?”

A small but unmistakable movement twitched at the corner of the hologram’s mouth. _“The Watengi, the Sackenyaco, the Kinitowawi -- ”_

“No - ” Lister shook his head, the small, desperate movements weighed down with grief. “No, man, no - ”

 _“ -- and not just this dimension,”_ he continued, unfazed. _“I retraced your steps from the last few weeks. After all, the Jadestone was bound to be hidden with one of them.”_ A haunting nonchalance stilled pale features as he continued to map the path of his destruction. _“Galactic Bazaar, Sidius 12, the Blerion outposts - ”_

Riddled with shock, Rimmer’s entire body trembled as he cast his gaze out through the window to the distant stars, mourning each of them in turn. The sky’s wounds pulsed white in agony, wordlessly begging him for closure or release. With a comprehending empathy, Rimmer’s eyes fell closed, pained. “ - and I didn't save them.”

A dangerous look began to cloud the pointed angles of his predecessor’s face. _“You truly think you could have stopped me?”_ He snorted dismissively as he closed the gap between them. _“My powers far outstretch your meagre abilities. I've become something far greater than you could ever hope to achieve.”_

Rimmer knew that the man’s actions weren't his to control. He _knew_ that they were the crimes of an unknowing accomplice. But still, he couldn’t help but direct his hushed anger at his own, twisted reflection. 

“No. You’ve become something far worse,” he breathed, shaking visibly as he struggled to hold back his anger. “Now you're nothing more than a murderer.”

“Oh come now, Mr Rimmer. You're hardly innocent in all of this,” Pizzak hushed with the exasperation of a parent settling a sibling squabble. “The pair of you - and all those that came before you - you've all been slaughtering our kind to fit the ‘Ace’ agenda for years now. How is this any different?”

Rimmer’s hands instinctively wrenched at his restraints, as if his words alone were enough to trigger an inherent urge to deactivate the droid with his bare hands. “Those were innocent people, Pizzak,” he snarled. “This goes against _everything_ he and I ever stood for.”

Flicking away any sense of an historic alliance with a dismissive eyebrow, a taunting gloat began to flicker in once-hazel eyes as his predecessor leant forward to hiss into his ear. _“Tonga sends his regards by the way.”_

Rimmer froze, the name uttered like a punch to the gut. A lump stuck thick in his throat; one that he had to swallow back before he could even speak. 

“Please say you didn't,” he mumbled stiffly as the man drew back to face him once more. When no response came, Rimmer’s chest began to heave. “ _Please_ say you fought it - ” he implored to the man that he knew still existed in there somewhere.

As a torturous grin crept slowly across pale features, Rimmer’s mouth hardened into a primal snarl in return. Suddenly he lashed out with his boot, delivering a hard, swift kick to the solar-plexus that was forceful enough to send his predecessor staggering backwards.

Rimmer strained against his guard’s renewed grasp. “Why aren't you fighting it?!” he demanded, the furious cries that had hijacked his voice now cracked and hoarse. “Fight back!”

It was then that the possessed hologram _did_ fight back, but not quite in the manner he was expecting. Suddenly Rimmer was wrenched off his feet by a buzzing, invisible grip, crying out at the waves of telekinetic energy that now lanced through his projection. Just as quickly, he was cast backwards with barely-restrained aggression into the console beside his beloved DJ Drive; his spine singing a sharp, jarring dis-chord as it cracked against the desk before he slumped to the floor in a dazed wheeze.

“ _There_ it is!” Pizzak shouted triumphantly. “There's the anger behind that saintly exterior!”

Hazel eyes screwed shut as Rimmer groaned painfully, the nightmare of his death returning to haunt him in the flesh. Pizzak’s accusation had inadvertently reflected the exact same words that his alter ego had hurled at his predecessor in the final minutes before he'd died. And now, that same crippling fear was slowly beginning to creep out from long-ignored shadows.

Rimmer glanced up to the twisted, perverse shadow that his predecessor had become. “I'm not like him,” he croaked, not sure if he was telling Pizzak or himself. “We’re not the same.”

“Oh not yet, of course.” The simulant’s grey mottled face split into a grin. “But soon you will be.” An oily grey tongue slicked across his lips in delight, his eyes lighting upon his dark creation. “I mean, why make do with one Ace - ” Pizzak turned back to glare at him meaningfully, “ - when I can have a pair?”

Rimmer’s face dropped in realisation; his head swimming dizzily sick at the prospect of a fate worse than death. His head shook almost imperceptibly before hardening into a defensive scowl. “No way,” he breathed, his entire face quivering to keep it in check. 

“Don’t you smegging dare,” Lister managed, the thinly-plastered determination barely holding back the panic that was intent on hijacking his features. “Not again.”

“Oh, but it's so easy!” Pizzak's sang playfully as he twisted his chair back and forth. “A few minutes, that's all it takes!” The simulant angled his head to regard Rimmer pointedly, all levity suddenly dispersed. “Then you'll be _all_ mine to control.”

Despite his terror, Rimmer held his glare firm. “I will _not_ be turned into some kind of mindless slave to do your dirty work.” 

“Oh, you’ll do _wondrous_ things for me, my pet,” Pizzak marvelled, his eyes lit with murderous intent. “A click of my fingers and you’ll be slaughtering the people of the Colony without batting an eyelid. In fact -- ” 

Grabbing a fistful of Lister’s long dreads, the simulant hauled him down roughly until he was forced to stoop across his lap with a pained yelp. Unable to move against the strain, Lister bit back a frightened whimper as Pizzak looped the dreads thoughtfully back around his neck.

“ -- a single command,” the simulant mused, tugging agonisingly slowly on Lister’s dreads until they tightened across his throat, “and you'll be torturing this one until he _screams_ for you to stop.” Lister’s panicked breaths began to hitch involuntarily, straining against a noose of his own creation.

Riled, Rimmer shot the droid daggers as he struggled to get up from the deck. “Leave him _alone_ , Pizzak,” he forced through gritted teeth, desperately trying to get himself upright. “Or I swear I'll tear you apart, circuit by circuit.”

His threat drew the simulant’s attention with a look of confused intrigue. Without breaking his stare, he slackened his grip until the dreads began to snake back from his grasp, allowing Lister to wrench in a full, desperate breath as he straightened. “Come now, Mr Rimmer. One minute you're bickering like children, and the next you're trying to protect him,” he reprimanded. “You're hardly being consistent.”

Indeed, it was a truth universally acknowledged that Arnold Rimmer and David Lister could bicker for eons if given the chance. Their arguments could stretch to the far reaches of the cosmos and until the end of time itself; each fighting to have the last word. Yet conversely, it equally mapped the lengths that Rimmer was prepared to go to in order to protect him.

Chest still heaving, Rimmer sank onto his knees, the premise too strange for even him to comprehend. “It's called being human,” he surmised quietly. Despite the determined stillness that steadied his face, sad eyes flickered with something far deeper as he regarded him once more. “A trait I don't intend on surrendering. I will _not_ become a murderer.”

Lister let out a pained cry as an invisible force dragged him across the deck into the hands of Rimmer’s predecessor. _“ -- and yet you play with the life of the last human like it was something to be oh-so-easily discarded,”_ he countered, cold lean fingers gripping his jaw hard. _“You fail to comprehend that your refusal to comply with my master’s wishes will be his death sentence.”_

Snaring eye contact with his old bunkmate, Lister whispered to him meaningfully under his breath. “Come on, y’smegger,” he chided through bunched cheeks, hoping to reach the part of him that still existed. “You've gotta _fight_ it, man.” 

For a moment, _something_ began to shift deep within those cold, dead eyes. But just as quickly, it had dissipated, and Lister’s coded pleas were silenced with a wave of telekinetic energy that locked his body in a painful spasm before releasing him, panting, once more.

With renewed aggression, the possessed hologram wheeled back to his successor. _“Take us to the Colony,”_ he hissed, _“or he will be the first to die.”_

Rimmer’s heart sank as Lister shot him a look of broken defeat. He swallowed audibly as the guard grabbed a large fistful of his jacket before hauling him to his boots and shoved him into the console.

This was Check Mate. Before him was set the impossible choice between sacrificing Lister to save the Human Colony, or sparing Lister’s life now but most certainly dooming him and what remained of humankind to a torturous end at the hands of the simulants. 

But whether or not he decided to comply, sooner or later he’d have no choice in the matter when they infected him with the dreaded holovirus. He’d become nothing more than a willing slave to the simulants’ plans as opposed to the only man who could stop it.

Rimmer tried to steady himself to think like Ace. To drag forth some small scrap of a plan from the panicked garbling that had now swamped his mind. But with the guard breathing down his neck and watching his every move, even attempting anything else on the console would immediately ensure that Lister met his maker.

Long, lean fingers began to pump in panic. He couldn't concentrate. He could barely breathe.

_Stay calm. You're never going to kick arse with a head full of this mess._

Startled, Rimmer tried not to jump as the wordless, soothing voice spoke silently in his head.

_He wants you to feel angry and frightened. It will give the virus more to feed on in order to take over your system._

“What?” he muttered, utterly convinced that he'd finally turned space crazy.

_Lati hekmat, new boy! Speak with your mind, not with that big, fat mouth of yours._

Suddenly, the familiarity of the voice clicked. The panicked gasps caught in his throat as he suddenly stopped breathing altogether.

Carefully glancing over his shoulder to meet the simulant guard’s gaze, his lagging brain _finally_ noticed what had quite literally been staring him in the face this whole time. Sparkling violet eyes glared back at him meaningfully.

Rimmer stifled a smile that threatened to conquer his face. _Oh, you’re good,_ he relented silently. _You’re bloody good._

The simulant’s double eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly. _Tell me something I don’t know,_ the voice scoffed inside his head. _Besides,_ the droid snared his gaze suggestively, _I’m sure I’ll think of a way you can make it up to me._

Rimmer granted Juno a small, knowing smirk. _Given that the conditions are a) once I'm out of these handcuffs, b) NOT in that body you’re in now, and c) after we've gotten out of this mess, then I’d be happy to oblige, I’m sure._

 _Hmm,_ Juno challenged. _Perhaps we could negotiate on the handcuffs?_

 _Ah. Speaking of which._ Rimmer spun back to address the Drive Room. “Okay,” he agreed aloud, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “If you promise not to harm the human, I’ll take you to the Colony. However - ” he turned his back to Pizzak to proffer his manacled hands, fingers wiggling in indication, “ - it's a tad difficult to operate the console like this.”

Pizzak eyed him dubiously before jutting forth his chin in indication to Juno to release him. “Watch his every move. Any funny business, and the human is history.”

Beating back the smug grin that begged to surface, Rimmer spun his back to Juno. “If you’d be so kind?” he smarmed.

The moment that Juno deactivated the shackles, any trace of a smile was wiped from his features as she cracked the butt of her gun across Rimmer’s temple, much to Pizzak’s obvious delight.

“OW! For the love of -- ” Straightening, Rimmer glared at her as he rubbed at the headache that had now completely besieged his brain. _Was that really necessary?_ he sniped silently.

_You want it to look convincing, right?_

_Touché._

Rimmer plastered on his poker face as he turned back to his predecessor. “You said so yourself,” he called pointedly as he held out his hand. “If I'm going to take us anywhere, I'm going to need the Jadestone to power the jump.”

Still maintaining a harsh grip on his captive, harsh eyes bored into his before turning their attention to Juno. _“You,”_ he nodded in indication, brandishing the gemstone between his forefinger and thumb. _“Do what needs to be done. But under no circumstances is he allowed to touch it. Understood?”_

Keeping violet eyes low and inconspicuous, Juno gave a short nod as she took the Jadestone from him carefully before crossing back to join Rimmer at the console. She could only latch onto small fragments of the excited ramblings that were now racing through his mind. But it was enough to establish that, finally, he was gathering some semblance of a plan.

 _So,_ she hissed to him wordlessly as she placed the Jadestone onto the DJ Drive. _What do you need me to do?_

Rimmer flashed her a pointed look. _Stall for time,_ he implored. _Give me as long as you can._ His gaze lit upon the console like a child handed the scoop to a Pick n’ Mix counter. _I need to have a little play on their network._

The hologram steadied himself with a long, measured breath. The plan that he was about to implement had an error margin so wide that the result could range from ‘smeg all’ to ‘total apocalypse’. Indeed, it could only be described as a typical ‘Ace Rimmer’ plan; one that winked coquettishly at far-fetched, flirted with insane and outright snogged suicidal. 

But frankly, with this dimension already disintegrating beyond repair, it was all he had. After all, his predecessor had clearly signalled that it would be the only way out. And with the death and destruction that had already poisoned this dimension, coupled with the temporal rips that threatened to pull the universe apart completely, it was time to put a stop to it. To salvage what he could and allow the last human to exit stage right.

Now, the Dimension Jump Drive was now back under its master’s control. The laws of interdimensional travel would bend to his will once more. And if he could pull it off, he might even be able to play them sufficiently to allow his charge a happy ending after all.

Ace Rimmer had everything he needed. It was time to implement Act 513.


	27. The Final Bow: part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist..."
> 
> \- _Chandelier_ , Sia

_So let me get this straight,_ Juno proffered, secretly hoping that their telepathic conversation was somehow picking up some form of interference from a nearby seance or psychic stage show. After all, his explanation had sounded as coherent as a Welsh pig farmer with a chronic catarrh problem. _You're going to save the Universe by erasing our dimension from existence?_

Rimmer kept his gaze steadfastly on the console as he worked. _Yep._

_As in, destroying the reality in which we’re currently residing?_

_That's the idea._

She eyed him carefully, wondering just how hard she'd managed to hit him round the head. _Right. Just so I've got that clear in my mind._

Rimmer fixed her with a stare. _This problem has gone far beyond some ugly tears across the fabric of the cosmos, you know. You can't see the damage it's causing because this is the eye of the storm. We’ll remain unaffected until this dimension disintegrates completely._

The tears' strange, ethereal glow stretched further into the Drive Room, skipping impishly across the console. _But out there, the temporal rips will be causing chaos. In some parts of the dimension, an entire day will pass by in a single second. In others, time will be moving so slowly that every minute will feel like an eternity._

Simulant features grimaced. _I've had dates like that before._

They fell into an awkward silence once more. Juno eyed the hologram curiously as he tapped in agitation at the keypad.

 _What’s wrong?_ she prodded cautiously. _I can always sense when you're thinking too hard. Your mind gets way too messy and cluttered, especially for someone who is supposedly obsessed with order. I can barely see what’s what in there._

Rimmer frowned at her in reprimand. _What would you recommend? Looking up an interior designer for my brain? I'm guessing Yellow Pages would be out of the question._

Violet eyes rolled subtly. _Don't be evasive. Something’s bothering you, I can tell. So spit it out._

Rimmer gnawed his concerns into his lip. _I’m struggling to muster enough power from the Jadestone to allow the DJ Drive to perform the dimension closure._ He shook his head subtly, eyes tracking across the reams of feedback data. _This dimension’s probably way past the optimum point and therefore the Drive seems to be demanding more energy to power its shut down. Even with queueing up the Orion’s non-essential systems as a back-up power drain, it's not going to be enough._

 _So abandon this then!_ Juno hissed in his mind. _Just ‘jump’ us to the nearest dimension and we can make our escape!_

 _Bringing the simulants with us?_ Rimmer prompted. _And abandoning the others on Wildfire? Not to mention the small fact that whichever dimension we jump to risks being caught up in the fallout if it shares even the minutest point of similarity?_

There was a thoughtful pause. _Well you just had to go looking at the details, didn't you?_

Despite focusing on his task, Rimmer’s head tilted subtly in allowance. _I know it's conventional and boring but I have to see this through. It's my job._

 _What, to be noble, selfless and loyal?_ Even behind an unfamiliar face, Juno’s sneer was instantly recognisable. _Ugh._

Rimmer granted her a wry smile. ‘Ace’ he might be, but he still didn't totally buy into the whole flawless debonair act either. _I must admit, I share that sentiment,_ he concurred with a smirk. _After all, it's hardly my natural approach. I'm surprised my lightbee didn't combust at the incompatibility of it all --_

The hologram tailed off, all levity suddenly lost as an enlightening yet sobering thought hit him with all the force of a tidal wave. In an exhale devoid of air, his gaze dropped to the hands that now sat in still expectation on the keypad. Their projected image faintly buzzed and distorted at the edges, still recovering from the damage his predecessor had dished out. 

He blinked unsteadily. It seems that there was one last energy source that he could drain in order to complete his task.

_Your mind is doing that messy thing again. What's up now, new boy?_

Rimmer flashed the symbi-morph a reassuring look that was nonetheless backlit with a hidden agenda. Juno narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. His thoughts were becoming more and more difficult to read, having seemingly shuttered down the defences. Yet she could still pick up faint traces of a slow, haunting melody.

_Nothing. I've just thought of a way to solve our little problem, that's all. Give me another minute and I'll be ready._

Painfully self-conscious, Juno swivelled back to face the room only to be immediately snared by Pizzak’s suspicious glare. She drummed agitated fingers against her gun. _Come on, newbie. They're starting to look rather antsy over here._

Indeed, Pizzak’s eyes were now tracking back and forth between the pair of them, his face rapidly clouding like an oncoming storm. “What's the delay?” he snarled, voice dangerously low.

From under the bangs of his wig, Rimmer flashed her a panicked look. _Stall for me!_

“Just the final calculations being programmed now, sir,” Juno assured aloud, her voice perfectly imitating the buzzing, distorted echo of a simulant’s. The symbi-morph wheeled back to Rimmer, mimicking Pizzak’s angered snarl. “Come on hologram, we haven't got all day,” she chided with a sharp whack to his head with the butt of her gun.

Jaw set hard, Rimmer bit back a growl of his own; tightly screwed eyes eventually peeling open to regard her with a silent venom. _You know, maybe next time you do the hard work and I'll dish out the punishments? How does that sound?_

Juno shrugged coolly. _If that's your kink, then I’m game._

Sighing, the hologram shook his head and returned to his task before her words digested fully and he glanced back to her questioningly, mouth poised open. At her smirking eyebrow, he clamped it shut and continued to work once again. Now really wasn't the time anyway.

In fact, it took a disconcertingly little amount of time to orchestrate the process that would effectively lead to his own demise. After a brief mourning pause, he hit ‘Return’ with a final flourish. He stepped back to quietly observe his work as the process began; watching with a strange sense of detachment as the countdown clock on the screen ticked away the final five minutes that it would take for the DJ Drive to extract the current degrading timeline, isolate Dimension 23101986K from the multiverse, and finally delete the entire thing from existence.

“Are you quite finished, Mr Rimmer?” Pizzak grinned wickedly, his oil-grey tongue slicking in anticipation across jagged teeth.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Rimmer stared back at him hard. “Oh absolutely,” he replied, keeping his voice quiet and still. “I've done everything I need to.”

A dark smile stretched, luxuriant, across the simulant’s pale face. “Well, then. Buckle up, boys,” he smarmed, settling deeper into his Captain’s chair. “Before we know it, we’ll be on the doorstep to the Human Colony.” His fingernails dug into the leather armrests before carving a meaningful path down their lengths. “Perfectly poised to exact our revenge on mankind.”

Rimmer steadied himself with a long, slow breath. The stage was set. If this was to be his final performance then he'd give them one hell of a show. A cocky grin began to inch across his cheeks. Ace Rimmer: incarnation 12,763 was about to bow out with a finale to remember.

Wheeling back on his heels to face him, his features pinched, mock-awkward. “Hmm, that's not _quite_ the plan, I'm afraid,” he laboured. “You see, firstly we need to do a bit of tidying up around here. After all, it would be rather unsavoury to abandon this dimension having left behind such a mess.” He cocked a challenging eyebrow. “Wouldn't you agree, old chap?”

Despite the pincer-like grip on the back of his neck as his old bunkmate held him captive, Lister couldn't help but feel comforted as he clocked the unmistakable twinkle in the man’s eye. It was the same key spark that signalled the major difference between the two Rimmers. 

The original had always taken everything incredibly seriously - from engineering revision and health & safety manuals to ensuring his swimming certificate was precisely level. However, the nanobotic recreation had found his reform far earlier thanks to his penal servitude in the Tank. Having lost faith in the hierarchy that had both eluded and forsaken him, he had channelled his frustrations into joining his cell mate’s love of anarchical pranks.

And judging by the boyish smirk that this incarnation was trying - and failing - to hold back, this was about to be one hell of a prank.

Rimmer waggled a reprimanding finger at his predecessor. “You're first on my list for a spring clean, miladdo,” he asserted, an ‘Arnold’ term of address escaping through ‘Ace’s’ dulcet tones. The hologram quickly straightened his arm to release the watch caught in his sleeve before making a great show of studying it. “And by my calculations, Pizzak’s virus scanner should start cleansing your light bee _right_ about - ”

His predecessor suddenly let out an agonising howl as he bent double, clawing ineffectively at the lightbee buzzing inside his chest. Now free from his grasp, Lister scrabbled away, yelping at the shocks of electricity that jolted their escape as the hologram’s image began to pulse uncontrollably. 

Glancing up from his watch, thin lips twisted smugly as Rimmer wrestled back a grin. “ - now.” 

The scream of pain began to morph aurally - from a roar laced with electronic feedback to a nasal cry - as the once-dark image of the black uniform and Ace-like wisps of hair began to distort and flicker violently. 

Suddenly, with an audible _thwip_ , his lightbee restored normal transmission; returning to the familiar blue navigation uniform and mussed brown curls once more. The hologram’s head whipped back up with a wrenching gasp of air, as if his old self had been forced to hold his breath for far too long. Panting visibly, he blinked in unsteady confusion.

A strange tic twitched at the corner of Pizzak’s eye as his entire face collapsed under the weight of the shock. “What - ?!”

Rimmer forced a wide smile as Lister shared shocked stares with his dazed bunkmate. “Well look at that! The Dynamic Duo reunited at last!” he bellowed with a happiness tinged with jealousy. But there was no time for that now. He had to act whilst the simulants were still reeling, and quickly.

“Well now, this has got to be a Kodak moment!” Rimmer bundled the bemused pair hurriedly towards the comms panel beside him. “Squeeze in together, that’s right.” He allowed himself a swift, subtle glance up to the ceiling to double-check their position. 

Framing them through angled hands as he drew back, Rimmer beamed happily. “Now, look to the camera and say ‘teleporter!’.”

The pair blinked in confusion. “Tele – ”

The hologram swiftly slammed the button on the comms panel beside him. And in a blinding flash of light, the two of them disappeared.

******

“ – porter!”

Disorientated, Lister blinked rapidly as he swallowed back a lurch of travel sickness. As the room began to settle around him, his jaw quickly dropped in realisation. Rimmer had smegging well done it. He’d sent them back to Wildfire.

Kochanski appeared in the cockpit doorway, her mouth equally equipped for catching flies. “Dave?!” she gasped in elated disbelief. At Lister’s grin, she raced towards him happily -- 

_Thwip._

Lister blinked twice as he realised he was suddenly a clear foot off the ground. Kochanski was stood to one side, arms folded as she rolled her eyes. He quickly gathered, from both her response and the mechanical arms wrapped tightly across his chest, that Kryten was bear-hugging him from behind like he never wanted to let go.

“Oh, Mr Lister, sir!” came the familiar wail in his ear. “I was so worried!”

“I'm fine, Kryten, man,” he soothed, torn between his embarrassment and gratitude for the mechanoid’s mother hen-clucking. As Kryten lowered him reluctantly to the ground, he tugged in indication at the shackles that still fastened his hands behind his back. “But how the smeg are we supposed to deactivate - ?”

_Thwip._

“ -- should be it. Ah yes! There's those pesky blighters off, sir!” Kryten smiled as he brandished the loose shackles smugly. 

Lister shook his head as he nursed his sore wrists. The time skips were far more frequent and unpredictable than they had been earlier. And speaking of unpredictable...

He craned past Kryten until the hologram slid into view. Hazel eyes were tracking warily across the room, his expression somewhat akin to a man who had just materialised inside a wasp’s nest. 

“Rimmer, man?” he prodded verbally, swallowing hard. “You okay?”

Rimmer pinched together his forefinger and thumb, as if trying to pin something down that was currently completely eluding him. “Where the smeg are we?” he asked carefully, his voice somewhat ragged around the edges.

Stepping out from the shadows of the cockpit doorway, Rose edged towards him, an onslaught of words unsaid damned back behind a reassuring smile. This was the first opportunity she'd had to speak to him properly since he'd been forcibly retired; the first time she'd stood before him face to face rather than regarding him from a console. 

“Of course!” she proffered gently. “You haven't seen the old girl since the upgrade!”

Rimmer stared blankly back at her, as if the explanation she’d sprouted had been uttered in French. He searched her face for some form of recognition. “Sorry, who the smeg are you?” he blurted awkwardly.

His attention was snatched over Rose’s shoulder by the reassuringly familiar sight of Nirvanah emerge at the cockpit door. Rimmer sighed raggedly, opening his mouth to express his relief and gratitude at seeing her, when -- 

_Thwip._

\-- Rimmer managed to blink back to reality just in time to see Nirvanah treat him to a swift, hard smack across the face.

“OW! Smegging -- ”

Rimmer cradled his throbbing jaw as he turned back to the petite redhead who was now shooting him daggers. Indeed, the entire room seemed to be regarding him with a cocktail of defensive expectation and guarded hopefulness, as if they couldn't be sure if he would spurt flame or start juggling custard pies.

The hologram brandished his arms in affront. “Would someone care to explain to me what the smeg is going on?” he demanded.

Nirvanah’s chest heaved visibly from the anger and relief that now flooded her system. “ _That’s_ for almost killing us!” she cried, the hot tears already gathering rapidly in her eyes. 

_Thwip._

Rimmer’s mouth had been poised to seek an explanation but now seemed to be rather occupied with other matters; locked together with Nirvanah’s in a fervent, passionate kiss that seemed to mourn a loss and welcome a return all in one embrace.

Eventually she released him, a tidying finger running across her lips as they broke into a thankful smile. “And that’s for _almost_ killing us.”

Stunned, Rimmer stood in the calm before the storm, eyes flitting in question to each of them in turn. His legs soon bowed to the inevitable, dissolving into a quivering mess before beginning to give way from underneath him. 

“I-I think I need to sit down -- ” he announced shakily.


	28. The Final Bow: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, whilst it may prove helpful to have read 'Blurry' before this fic, I have recapped the essential part at the beginning of this chapter for you.

_Stretching his crossed legs out onto the console, Rimmer linked his fingers behind his head and leant back, deep in thought. "Here's a riddle to keep you busy whilst you self-repair," he mused distantly. "Despite your forever-perfect navigation calculations, somehow we get pulled unwillingly into this dimension. And this head honcho SCM here," he huffed over the words with a hint of resentment, "seems to reckon that this Colony has survived for 160 years as derelicts keep mysteriously showing up, bringing a continual stream of both food supplies and new survivors." He raised an eyebrow. "Coincidence?"_

_The computer's modem ticked over the premise. "Could be a dimension skid?" she offered._

_"A weak point between realities?" He chewed over the prospect. "He also talked about wormholes appearing and disappearing randomly. But strangely, the skids and wormholes all seem to be feeding into this point in time and space specifically."_

_"Precisely my theory," the computer replied silkily. "They seem to be bringing together stranded fragments of the human race."_

_Rimmer blinked. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Universe is trying to save the human race by bringing together what's left of it?" He shook his head. "But dimension skids and wormholes are naturally occurring phenomenon - a Universe can't plan what to put where for the sake of karma, surely?"_

_The white lights rippled across the console as the computer sighed wistfully. "Still so much to learn," she muttered to herself._

\-- Excerpt from “Blurry”, chapter 5

 

******

As the blinding flash of light receded to reveal the now-empty spot beside the comms panel, Rimmer was already dusting off his hands with well-deserved glee at having ticked off the first two items on his agenda. “Well, this is looking a lot tidier already!” he beamed.

“No!” Pizzak scrabbled to his feet, his haggard features torn aghast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rimmer laboured mockingly, jabbing a finger back over his shoulder. “Did you want to be in the photo too?” 

Pizzak’s face rapidly clouded, the dangerous growls that rumbled deep in his chestplate clearly audible from across the room. He rounded on the guard stood beside Rimmer, chastising him with a single look. “Fool!” he snarled, jagged teeth now exposed. “You were supposed to be monitoring his calculations!”

But rather than the snivelling, simpering response that he was expecting, Pizzak watched in confusion as the guard simply stared back, unfazed. After a moment’s contemplation, the simulant lowered his gun, jutting forth his chin in an act of defiance. 

Rimmer gave a short snort of amusement as he folded his arms. “Now, the way I see it?” he mused. “You should never piss off anyone on your payroll.” 

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck quiver as with a silent ripple, like the wind brushing across the surface of a lake, a wave of light shimmered across the simulant’s body. Slowly but surely, its image reformed into the all-too-familiar silhouette of Juno’s curves. 

“That one might come back to bite you in the arse.” 

As the simulants all stared at her in slack-jawed disbelief, a strange light from the window snared Rimmer’s attention. Amongst the ugly tears that stretched possessively across the sky, an unfamiliar wormhole had yawned open in the chaos, now glowing in distant wait.

Unchecked and unchartered it may be, but a small yet insistent instinct - most likely drawn from the lessons he'd learnt during his heroic secondment - _knew_ that it was Wildfire’s only shot. Not only that, but a direct flight heading _exactly_ where they needed to be.

Rimmer smiled to himself. It seemed that Rose’s theory was indeed correct. When pushed to the limit, the Universe would always save the last human. And that wormhole was Lister’s ticket out of here.

He quickly turned back to the room to continue his final performance. “Give a hand for my glamorous assistant here!” he cheered loudly, as if to mask the silent conversation that was beginning to unfurl between him and the smirking symbi-morph. 

Taking Juno’s hand, he promenaded her towards the console before spinning her back to the same spot where Lister and his predecessor had not long stood.

Rimmer fixed her with a meaningful stare as his hand hovered at the console once more. _Pass on the message, there's a good girl._

And with a wink and a flash, she too was gone.

******

Juno swallowed back a lurch of travel sickness as an unfamiliar ship began to reform around her. Disorientated violet eyes refocused on the group sat beside the midsection table.

A human with dreadlocks glanced up at her expectantly before flustered disappointment swamped his face and he resumed chewing on his thumbnail. A highly-coiffured female hologram, a fussing mechanoid and the sadly-familiar computer all flanked the once-rogue incarnation sat between them.

She eyed him warily. He had indeed recovered from the effects of the holovirus. But judging by the way his head hung between his legs and the oddly-nasal whining he was currently emitting, he looked rather close to passing out. 

Ah, yes. _That_ was more reminiscent of the man she’d kidnapped on the Trading Post; the Ace-less variation on the same face who had tried to beg and weasel his way out of his capture.

Rose stood sharply, glaring at the symbi-morph with an indignation she didn't care to hide. And with a strange, audible _thwip_ , she was suddenly stood right in front of her. 

“What the hell are you doing here - ?” the computer snapped.

Juno blinked twice. She could ask the same of her. 

The entire ship began to judder wildly, forcing them all to grip onto tables and chairs. The eerie light from the temporal rips beyond started to stretch from the cockpit into the midsection, skipping mischievously across the walls with little care for the damage its arrival was wreaking.

Juno staggered before regaining equilibrium. “Look, we’ll have time for sniping later, okay?” she insisted, her usual cool, collected nature now whipped into a mild concern - the closest she ever got to panicking. “Ace said to tell you that he's implementing 513.”

There was another _thwip_ which saw the short, dumpy human suddenly join them. His brow furrowed in recollection. "Hang on, 513?" he echoed. "Didn't Rimmer say that was to do with Invalid Realities or somethin’?”

The computer held Juno’s gaze unsteadily, desperately trying to process the enormity of the premise. It was a highly destructive action to take; but the instinctive buzz deep down in her CPU already knew that it was the only course of action left. She glanced back to Lister and nodded absently. “He's going to close the dimension,” she mumbled. 

The gravitas tugged down at gerbil-cheeks. “You what?!”

The computer shook her head, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “But the temporal rips are the most severe that I've ever seen,” she muttered. “He doesn't have a power source large enough to fuel the DJ Drive to sufficiently counteract the damage -- ”

Rose tailed off as she clocked the mournful look that sat in the dwindling sparkle of Juno’s gaze. Neon-blue eyes searched hers questioningly before blinking a startled, quiet realisation. “Oh,” she said simply. It was all she could manage.

The symbi-morph shot her a rare look of sympathy. “We’ve got less than three minutes to pack up and ship out,” she sighed raggedly. “So unless we fancy spending the rest of eternity in non-space, Ace said that we need to head for the wormhole.”

“Wormhole?” Rose echoed distantly, mind elsewhere. “But the Delta Sector doesn't have a -- ”

The recollection hit her like a splash of cold water to the face. Sobered yet inspired, she swiped quickly at watery eyes as she raced into the cockpit where Kochanski and the Cat were stationed. Her digital gaze swept in swift assessment across the far stretches of the viewscreen until they lit upon the distant yet unmistakable swirling mouth that yawned open to dimensions unknown.

“There!” she barked, finger thrust out towards it. “Wormhole, bearing 145-014! It's our only chance!”

A _thwip_ cut out the time it needed for Kochanski to dredge through the ship's database. “But it’s _unchartered_ ,” she spluttered at the screen before her. “We have no clue where it leads to. For all we know, it could drop us into an eternal pit of non-space.”

“ -- and staying here means that there's a very high possibility that we’re wiped from existence,” Rose illustrated. “It's the lesser of two evils. A chance, no matter how risky, is better than nothing.”

The feline’s understanding of the situation was far more simplistic. “Head for the swirly thing!” the Cat yowled. “Got it!”

“Woah, hang on!” Clocking the urgent discussions in the cockpit, Lister stumbled through the doorway to join them as Wildfire trembled violently again. “We can't leave now, Rimmer’s still on the Orion -- !”

“ -- doing his duty,” Rose nodded shakily. Registering the desperately torn loyalties etched into his bewildered gaze, she swallowed hard. “He's saving your life. He's saving us all.”

 

******

“Seize him!”

Rimmer was quickly consumed as the remaining simulants swarmed forward to snare him. Dragging him away from the console before he could do any further damage, he gave no resistance as his arms were wrenched back whilst inhumanly strong hands shoved him down between the shoulder blades until he was forced to stoop. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, he gave a lofty sigh. Six simulants holding down one man. You had to laugh at the overkill.

“You cannot defeat me, Mr Rimmer,” Pizzak smiled wickedly as he closed the gap between them. “Whether it be with two Aces or just one, trust me when I say that _nothing_ will stop us from reaching the Colony and wiping humankind off the face of the cosmos.”

Rimmer rolled his eyes subtly. What was it with simulants and their love of hackneyed clichés? “Good grief, do you listen to yourself when you speak?” he grimaced. “You sound cheesier than the setlist for a DJ’s wedding gig.”

Dipping down until their eyes were level, Pizzak’s gloved hand gripped him roughly by the cheeks. “I don't require your cooperation in order to help me,” he spat, grey mottled cheeks dragging his mouth into a strained grin. “Let’s get your core programme and my trusty holovirus better acquainted, shall we?”

The simulant released him with a marked shove. Unfazed, Rimmer watched him as he strode with purposeful determination towards his console. Mouth bunched, he shrugged his relent. “Oh, go on then, if you insist. Why not, eh?” 

Perturbed, Pizzak whipped back to face him. They'd each played their parts for years now, and this was definitely a move away from the script. “I beg your pardon?” he probed, trying to keep his face in check.

Rimmer’s eyes gave nothing away. “Who hasn’t fancied a dabble in the dark side?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I must admit that it does get a little dull pretending to be Mr Smug Git all the time.”

The simulant’s intense gaze searched his with deep suspicion. “Well at last we agree on _something_ , Mr Rimmer,” he drawled, swivelling guardedly back to his console. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Besides, it hardly matters,” Rimmer replied pointedly to snare his attention once more. He regarded Pizzak from under the bangs of his wig. “Seeing as we’re all only going to exist for another – ” he hissed through his teeth in assessment, like a plumber making an estimate. “ – two minutes?”

In the strained silence that followed, a disbelieving laugh spluttered and died on Pizzak’s lips. His mouth hovered open to fire back a return shot but found nothing. For once, the corny phrases were distinctly lacking.

“As per Act 513 of the temporal agreement, I’ve declared this an invalid reality.” Rimmer grinned in the glorious warmth of the shocked silence. “This dimension terminates here.”

The DJ Drive trilled with a call for more power. In response, the banks of consoles surrounding them powered down one by one in a dying hum, relinquishing their energies to her cause. The stretch of ceiling lights above began to pulse and flicker before they too laid down their lives, leaving behind only the red glow of the emergency lighting. Rimmer smiled to himself subtly. The Orion’s non-essential power had been drained, right on cue.

Pizzak glanced anxiously to the DJ Drive before returning to the hologram with a murderous scowl. “What the hell did you do?” he growled.

“My job,” Rimmer replied flatly. “The Universe warned me that this was never meant to happen and I didn't listen.” He regarded Pizzak with a look of rare solemnity. “And because of that mistake, it's created a paradox that will not only obliterate this dimension, but all the inter-connecting dimensions of the same temporal line, destabilising the Universe beyond recognition.”

“Paradox?” Pizzak sneered

“Takes one to know one, I guess,” Rimmer acknowledged quietly. “See, the thing is, I was never meant to happen either. It's taken me a while but I've come to terms with it now. I’m a paradox too.” 

At the simulant’s look of confusion, he explained. “A nanobotic copy recreated in the same dimension as the template - a surefire way to piss off causality.” Hazel eyes narrowed thoughtfully, granting the premise a small nod of comprehension. “So it seems what every good paradox needs, is closure.”

The lights that stretched across the DJ Drive’s fascia began to fizzle and dim as it struggled to complete its monumental task. Pizzak arched a double eyebrow in challenge. “It appears as if it's stalemate, Mr Rimmer,” he announced pointedly. ‘Your machine is rather lacking in the power source department.”

As he clocked the quiet, mournful trill once again, Rimmer’s eyes fell to the deck. “You’re right,” he capitulated. “In order to fuel a clean closure of a destablised dimension, the DJ Drive needs to feed from a sufficiently large external power source -- ” 

Rimmer steadied heaving breaths of anticipation as he felt his projection begin to tingle at the familiar sensation of two programs syncing together. For the first time in the long-stretching history of Ace Rimmer and the Dimension Jump Drive, man and machine were about to become one.

The hologram snorted nervously, his chest now buzzing white hot in readiness. There was no turning back now. But he had to admit, given that he'd long-assumed he'd meet his fate at the hands of his predecessor, he had nothing else in his diary this week. 

Rimmer shot Pizzak a wide grin, granting him a cocky sideways nod as he felt the welcome surge of adrenaline. “ -- and you're looking at one, baby!”

There was an exploding flash of light as the first bursts of energy erupted outwards from his projection. His arms thrust out unwillingly, blasting aside the simulants that held him until they collapsed in twitching, fizzing piles at his boots.

Pinned upright by the piercing bolts of light that tethered him to his task, Rimmer’s back arched in a primal cry, engulfed in a hedonistic tidal wave of agony and ecstasy as the DJ Drive began to drain his lightbee of its power.

It was paradoxical, but in itself strangely fitting; how his projection felt like it was being torn apart whilst his head threatened to implode at the infinite orchestrations of the multiverse crushed together inside his mind. Gasping open-mouthed, his eyes welled at the beauty of it. Gone were the mortal misconceptions of the injustice of the Universe. It all made perfect sense, he could see that now. 

He could even see that God truly _did_ exist. And that it was - 

_\-- oh, for the love of --_

Of course it was. Of course it bloody was.

Stumbling back against the force, Pizzak shielded his eyes from the blinding light that began to radiate throughout the Drive Room. From the crook of his arm, his peripheral vision clocked the distant movement of Wildfire as it raced desperately across the starscape and towards a distinctly unfamiliar wormhole. 

Pizzak scowled murderously. Bracing himself against the intense juddering of the ship, he staggered towards the Drive panel in a final bid to follow them. However, the snarl soon drained from his face at the blank screen that stared unseeing back up at him. He jabbed wildly at the dead controls, hopelessly trying to resurrect them once more.

“That's not - our ride - I'm afraid,” Rimmer strained, his words struggling to be heard over the static cacophony that now held dominion over the Drive Room. “No ticket - no entry.”

Gloved fists slammed down onto the dead screen, sending ugly cracks stretching possessively across its surface. “NO!” Pizzak howled desperately.

“I thought - I made myself - clear before?” Rimmer forced, gritting his teeth against the unrelenting force of the drain. “There’s no way - I’d _ever_ \- allow you to reach - the Colony. Even if I - have to escort you - to Silicon Hell - myself.”

Soulless eyes regarded him darkly, more than prepared to drag him down with him. “Ace Rimmer would rather die if it meant stopping us?” Pizzak snarled.

Decidedly woozy, Rimmer’s giggle verged on the manic as he shook his head. “You don’t - get it - do you?” he chided breathlessly. “Ace Rimmer - doesn’t die.” 

With his projection now unable to move, he struggled to nod his head in indication to the DJ Drive as it sparked and hissed in its terminal task. “It’s like that gorgeous - piece of machinery - that you butchered. - She’ll be destroyed - performing this - final act - for me. But the blueprints - are never forgotten. She’ll be rebuilt - to serve the Ace - who will follow me.” 

Despite his pained grimace, the regret still managed to creep in from the wings. “I guess I just - won’t get to be - on the interview panel.”

******

“No!” Lister cried, clinging desperately to the doorframe as Wildfire hurtled at break-neck speed towards the wormhole. His face began to crumble under the weight of the realisation. “I can't let him do it! Not again!”

The rational part of his mind knew that there was no other option - that they'd all be dead in less than two minutes unless they took this gamble now. But the raw, unvarnished prospect - that Rimmer would have to sacrifice his life to save his - grated against every fibre of his moral code.

Bracing herself in the doorway opposite him, Rose’s face struggled to keep in check as she tried to keep her tone sympathetic yet professional. “It's his job to protect -- ”

“I don't care if that's his job now!” The defiance in Lister’s voice trembled at the edges, dark eyes now distinctly watery. “He's supposed to stick with _me_. He's supposed to be keeping me sane.”

He knew he sounded ridiculous; that his grief-stricken demands were akin to that of a tantruming toddler. But despite their natural antagonism - the bickering, the mutual pranks, and the insults - he _needed_ him. It's what kept him going.

Time skipped forward with a _thwip_ and Lister blinked quickly at the familiar hand that was now gripping his trembling fingers. 

His gaze tracked up to meet hers. The relentless shuddering of the ship betrayed the tears that had already gathered in Kochanski's eyes as it shook them free, sending them tracking silently down her cheeks. 

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. There weren't any words. Instead, she held his hand tight; a mourning comprehension that she too shared but dared not speak.

As the opening to the unknown yawned wider to swallow them whole, Rose scrabbled into the co-pilot chair to help steady the Cat’s piloting. “Hold on, everybody!” she yelled over her shoulder against the desperate squealing of the warning sirens. “We’re going in!”

******

The Orion’s warning systems continued to wail, the ship shuddering in anticipation at the final sixty seconds until the dimension closure. In the red glow of the emergency lighting, Rimmer’s projection resonated ethereally as it began to buzz and distort at the edges in response to his lightbee’s rapidly draining resources.

“Well at least - you learned - one thing,” he offered, his panting voice far too calm against the noise and chaos that surrounded him. Cavernous nostrils gave a tired yet smug snort. “Never give - Ace Rimmer access - to your network.”

With his crew dead at his feet, his hostages fleeing to freedom through the wormhole, and his death only seconds away, for once Pizzak struggled to find the right words. Apart from two, which seemed rather fitting really.

“You bastard,” he growled simply.

Erupting through the ugly chaos of the temporal rips, a brilliant white light began to glow powerfully. It stretched silently across the sky towards them, calmly consuming the countless stars in its wake.

As his entire projection began to pulse in and out of sight, Rimmer gave a weak, consenting shrug. “Yeah but - you know - what they say,” he surmised as their final seconds ticked away. Above the pain that flooded his features, a playful grin managed to surface shamelessly. “The world - loves - a bastard.”

Suddenly the white light engulfed them both.

And Dimension 23101986K ceased to exist.


	29. Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although the character of Sayura is referenced briefly in this chapter, her story is not essential reading in order to understand this one. However, if you'd like to read about Holo!RimmerasAce meeting her, then you need to head back to "124 Days".

_The hologram blinked slowly, feeling himself on the precipice between death and immortality. A memory, half-buried, half-forgotten, clawed its way to the surface._

_"I'd only been Ace for a year or so," Rimmer recounted quietly, his eyes staring out into space, unseeing. "Wildfire was picking up an SOS from a GELF ship in the Blerios sector. They'd been attacked by simulants, many of them were dead. The few survivors were stranded with no fuel, food or water, so I picked them up and took them to the nearest survivor's colony." He blinked slow and steady. "The Exodus."_

_Lister's eyes closed softly in sympathy. "Rimmer, you don't have to."_

_Rimmer gave an empty, hollow laugh. "They were so grateful. They wouldn't stop thanking me for saving them." He swallowed hard. "Their names were on the list of the dead."_

_Lister remained silent as he slowly joined him at the window, their reflections in the window blurring together at the edges._

_Rimmer's eyes pricked red. "I can't stop thinking about it," he said mournfully, the edges of his voice unsteady. "What if I'd have played it differently? If I'd have done something, said something different, I don't know." He screwed his eyes closed, pressing his forehead hard into the glass as if he hoped it would break. "It keeps going round and round and won't stop."_

\-- Excerpt from ‘Rimmer’s Return’, chapter 15

 

******

 

Whatever had happened, it was clear that things could never be quite the same again.

In the wake of such devastating events, Rimmer had trailed, lost, through a forest of their grief and mourning. Lister and Kochanski - (well, he’d assumed it was Kochanski. Although the woman looked very similar to the Console Officer he'd remembered from before the accident, she bore almost imperceptible differences that he struggled to place) - had clung to one another for comfort, sobbing unabashedly. 

Kryten’s rubber features had moulded into a sculpture of sadness as he wordlessly soothed them. Even the Cat had looked morose; slinking away into the shadows and avoiding all eye contact. Rimmer hadn't seen him check his pocket mirror once.

Nirvanah had stuck with him of course, entwining her fingers with his to grasp his hand tightly as they lay together in the darkness of the tiny spare bunkroom. But she too seemed somewhat distant and thoughtful, her blue eyes snagging sadly on the distant stars that sped past the porthole window whenever she thought he wasn't looking.

Although it had remained unsaid, one thing had been quite obvious. Ace’s demise held a direct, if not meandering path back to him.

Carefully extracting himself from her dozing tangle of limbs, Rimmer snuck out through the bunkroom doorway and into the chill of the corridor. A distant glow from the neighbouring bunkroom gently warmed the corridor’s darkness and he followed it, unthinking.

Even from the doorway, it was obvious that this had been Ace’s bunkroom; various trinkets, gifts and keepsakes were hung on the walls and neatly stacked in rows on the shelves. A line of equipment - handguns, ammunition and gadgetry - was mounted onto the wall to his left, holding a mourning, respectful vigil.

The Cat lay sprawled out snoozing on his double bed, arms crossed as they cradled his head. A small black cat was curled tightly on his stomach, also asleep. Rimmer blinked curiously at the sight before dismissing it just as quickly when he remembered what - or indeed who - it actually was.

Curious fingers trailed across the row of trinkets before pausing unwillingly at a small, gold brooch that rested amongst them. He plucked it carefully from the shelf, not quite certain of why it had been so deserving of such reverence, turning it over thoughtfully between his fingers.

“Sayura.”

The word - or perhaps, _the name_ \- tumbled as a whisper from between his lips before he'd even had a chance to check it.

Rimmer glanced up. The black cat had stirred from its slumbers and was now watching him intently with disconcertingly familiar violet eyes. The memory had seared itself onto his mind and now rose above the murk; the recollection of the same intense gaze when she’d captured him on the Trading Post. Back when she'd told him that --

Fuzzy memories swirled uncertain in his mind, and yet he could sense her presence amongst them; as if she were cautiously sifting through the debris of what remained. Flustered, he fumbled to return the brooch to the shelf whilst their mutual stares remained locked, before tearing away his gaze and slipping out the door.

Rimmer padded through to the midsection where Lister and Kochanski were sat at the table, slumped over as they snored quietly into their folded arms. Puffy red eyes were now gently closed, their once-devastated sobs now slumbering with them. 

A guilt - that he was unable to name but equally unable to shake off - sat heavy on his shoulders as he watched them wretchedly. They'd hardly been able to look him in the eye as they’d mourned; a loss that was not his to share. He regarded Lister sadly, wondering whether they'd be able to cobble back together some form of mutual trust after everything that had happened between them.

His head buzzed, full of questions. Rimmer swivelled back to the cockpit doorway. And some small, insistent instinct knew where he would find the answers.

 

Sat alone in the cockpit, Rose glanced back to the doorway where the hologram hovered, uncertain. She blinked her surprise. “Hey,” she prodded gently. “Couldn't sleep?”

When Rimmer shook his head despondently, the computer shot him a sympathetic frown. Although he looked exhausted, his right leg seemed to jiggle nervously, unable to settle; as if dark, persistent thoughts lurked in the same shadows that under-smudged his eyes. 

His presence set her on edge, although she couldn't pin down why. Although her CPU still hummed with guilt over his forced retirement, she couldn't be certain whether he even recalled his tenure in the first place. She remained quiet, simply casting out her line and waiting to see what memories could be fished out of the darkness.

The hologram gestured awkwardly to the empty swivel chair beside her. “Can I sit here - ?” he mumbled.

A distant warmth tickled the edge of Rose’s lips, her brow pinching imperceptibly. She wondered if his embarrassment was simply politeness at the intrusion or maybe - _just maybe_ \- a far deeper concern at the usurpation it represented. Unable to decipher it, she nodded carefully. “Make yourself at home.”

She watched as Rimmer slipped into the seat clearly painfully self-conscious, before the sight became too raw to bear and she turned away again. It felt strangely disconcerting sitting this way round - herself in the pilot seat and him as co-pilot. A horribly ironic tableau of how, yet again, her existence had been turned upside down now that she'd lost another one. It never became easier.

Rose shifted subtly to try and sit comfortably in the seat that was still moulded to him. Pressing herself into the impression that his absence had left behind, she trailed mourning fingers across the armrest.

The pair sat wordlessly for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, a distant, musing voice emerged from the silence between them. 

“I - I think I used to fly something like this.”

Rose’s hand stilled in the wake of his words, her breath halting unnaturally as neon-blue eyes carefully tracked back to watch him. Experimental hands mapped their way curiously across the console, slowly dredging up the memories that sat behind each switch.

She kept her voice low, as not to disturb the ripples of thought that had begun to surface. “Yes,” she nodded gently. “Yes, you did.”

Glancing back to the sound of her voice, his gaze seemed to snag strangely on hers before returning to the console once more. 

“What is it?” she probed.

“Sorry.” He shook his head as he glanced back, his voice caught between apology and curiosity. “Your voice is just so -- ” Hazel eyes narrowed to study hers. “Have we met before?”

An onslaught of emotions began to avalanche past a tight, measured smile. She nodded quickly, tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh, yes,” she managed.

At his confused look, she reached across to grasp the hand that still rested uncertain on the console, stroking a reassuring thumb over his knuckles. And as his focus dropped to her hand, she began the connection.

Their programs entwined once again after two years of separation, clicking into place like the first two pieces of a jigsaw. It wasn’t long until the rest began to emerge from the shadows. Slowly but surely, the remaining parts slotted together until the bigger picture gradually began to reveal itself.

Rimmer blinked slowly as the recognition finally hit the mark. His eyes trailed up to meet hers, suddenly heavy under the weight of the memories of an old, trusted friend and ally. “Hello again,” he mumbled, his voice thick.

Releasing a shaking breath, Rose’s lips trembled as they pulled into a weary smile. “Hello again,” she echoed.

It was all too much too quickly. The hologram’s face crumbled under the pressure of the memories - both distant and recently raw - that came flooding back, hands damming back desperate, broken sobs. 

Pulling his chair closer to hers, Rose cradled him sadly, simply allowing the tears that needed to flow. And together, in the ethereal glow of the wormhole’s swirling light, they mourned for everything that they had lost.

Eventually the flow began to stem, the salty tracks began to dry, and a loaded, thoughtful silence settled between them once more.

“People died because of me, didn't they?” His nasal voice was barely a whisper.

Rose stiffened, her chest seizing icily. Indeed they had. The influence of the holovirus had been cruel and deadly; tribes and citizens slaughtered in his wake. The dimension may no longer exist, but the memories of those terrible events would still linger.

She swallowed back a lump in her throat. But there had also been the terrible events which had ended his tenure as Ace. An accident it may have been, but he’d never managed to metaphorically wash the blood from his hands. His failure to save the people of The Exodus from the simulants had lead to his downfall and his forced retirement.

Rose gripped his hand tighter, rubbing it fervently. “It was the virus. None of it was you,” she strained, steering the conversation to the former and hoping that he was yet to recall the latter. “Try not to think about it.”

“I don't really remember much of what it made me do,” he muttered distantly. “I just know it was -- ” He trailed off, his mind echoing with haunting whispers which were too quiet to decipher. Eyes screwed closed, Rimmer shook his head to clear them. “I don't _want_ to remember,” he whispered.

Rose gently nuzzled his head with hers, her CPU already at work in his memory files to ensure that he never would. Whilst she was happy to leave the resurrecting recollections of his time as Ace to flourish, perhaps a little further pruning would be for the best. “I know,” she soothed.

They sat there like that for quite some time. The silence that bound them together was one of unspoken understanding and mutual comfort; their programs and simulated breaths continuing to sync in the still, quiet air.

“He was a good one,” Rimmer murmured drowsily as the last dark fragments began to fritter away. “Brave until the end.”

Rose’s gaze dropped down to her hand that still trailed, unthinking, across the armrest. Unshed tears trembled in her vision but refused to flow. “I know,” she repeated quietly.

 

Rimmer hadn't realised he'd fallen asleep until the ship’s gentle shuddering stirred him awake. He blinked heavily. A line of lights on the makeshift pillow of a console blinked back at him.

“Oh my god,” Rose whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don't believe it.”

Her words sent a jolt of synthetic adrenaline through his system as he straightened quickly in his chair to glance out through the cockpit window. “What? What is it?” he fumbled.

Rose half-turned towards him, her attention still snared by the view. “Do you remember this place?” she probed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Rimmer rubbed at tired, puffy eyes before squinting in closer inspection. The distant space-station was slowly growing larger as Wildfire powered towards it; a distorted collective of cobbled-together spaceships that formed a whole so much greater than the sum of its parts.

His face dropped in realisation, simulated heart pounding an intense, instinctive connection.

“The Colony,” he breathed.


	30. The Last Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after the piece of music I wrote this to: "The Last Butterfly" by Wodkah. If this chapter were to have a soundtrack, for me this is it.
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTrrc6Ni5eM

_But it was then that he noticed it; the torn page detailing the theory on porous circuits lying abandoned on the floor. With an audible growl, he snatched it up and smoothed out the wrinkles on the table, only noticing after a few strokes the black scrawled notes written across the margin._

_M.M._

_357240_

_35.65.472_

_He blinked, puzzled. It was his handwriting alright. Although by the look of it, he must have had a few large drinks before scrawling this strange, cryptic code._

_Yet despite the fact it carried no logical meaning, something instinctive told him to keep it. So for years to come, he used it as a bookmark for his revision notes._

_Indeed, it was the most important piece of information in the universe. At least it was for Arnold J. Rimmer._

_For it detailed the initials, dimension, and coordinate location of his son._

\-- Excerpt from ‘Rimmer’s Return’, chapter 15

 

******

 

Their shared excitement and disbelief was almost tangible as the group clung together, staggering out of Wildfire and into the dim, quiet expanse that was The Colony’s landing bay.

A studded-gloved hand ran experimentally across the disjointed metal of the walls as Lister struggled to take it all in. The individual panels were each a different colour and age; clearly salvaged from other ships before being hammered and welded to form the structure that surrounded them. Not so much created together, more so, brought together.

As Rimmer hurried past him, tightly clutching the straps of his rucksack, Lister eyed him anxiously. It was obvious from his hushed excitement and rather knowledgeable sense of direction that he’d been here before. Suddenly wary, he hung back as the others continued to marvel, wondering quite how much he remembered.

As if reading his thoughts, Rose rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “The virus may have resurrected his memories of his time as Ace, but I've deleted everything that happened on The Exodus.” She blinked slowly in mournful reverence. “I’ve also removed any recollection he had whilst he was under the influence of the holovirus.” 

She watched as Rimmer hovered in the distant doorway to stare down at The Colony, his outline silhouetted against the light that glowed from beyond. “He's punished himself enough,” she asserted gently. “It's time for him to move on now.”

Despite the grief that sat heavy on his shoulders, Lister couldn't help but recall the man’s misery when he'd first returned from his time as Ace. His guilt and anger had warped him beyond recognition into a man hell-bent on revenge against the simulants that had wreaked such death and destruction in his name. But even when his foe had been defeated, his self-loathing still survived; slowly tearing him apart until nothing but an empty, broken shadow was left.

But could he ever forgive the man who had been, in-part, responsible for the death then eternal loss of his nanobotic successor? 

As the Scouser bit his lip uncertainly, Rose rubbed his arm in indication. “It's time for you to do the same, I think,” she murmured. “You all deserve the chance to start again.”

Lister regarded him steadily as the hologram turned back to face him, his thin lips already tugged wide in a rare grin that he was keen to share with his old bunkmate.

“He’ll look after you all now,” Rose assured quietly. Her gaze snagged on the rucksack whose straps were still gripped tightly between long, lean fingers. A small parting allocation of weaponry to her retirees was not exactly the done thing; however, she had finally come to terms with the premise that this was no ordinary retiree. Even though he no longer bore the name, he would still have a job to do. A promise to keep. A vow to uphold.

“If the simulants ever reach The Colony again, or indeed if any hostile race poses a threat to this place, he’s prepared to give his everything to protect you.” She nodded, her voice hushed low in solemnity. “Just as he always has been.” 

Lister swallowed back the lump in his throat, the painful memories of his successor’s sacrifice overwhelming him in a wave of mournful pride. Rose patted him firmly on the shoulder before brushing past to head towards her old ally. “But you need to let him.”

Her booted footsteps echoed across the expanse as she strode towards the light, glancing over her shoulder for Lister to join her. After a thoughtful pause, he expelled a sigh, nodding to himself as he followed her guidance. _One step at a time,_ he told himself.

Rose led the group out onto a gantry to survey the hive of activity that buzzed below. Under the expansive dome-like structure that encased them, several hundred men, women and children of all ages and sizes were going about their everyday business; the recycled air sweet with the sounds of talk and laughter. 

Towards the centre, a trio of teenagers stood beside a communal cooking pot, chatting over bowls of steaming rice and stew. In between jokes, they dished out heaping mounds to the waiting women that handed them out to the various working collectives across the square - from the couples that sat scrubbing at old Space-Corps uniforms in large soapy buckets, to the group of self-taught engineers that swore unintelligibly as they tinkered with salvaged machinery. They each received the offering with a smile of gratitude.

Kochanski latched onto the safety rail to steady herself. “I don't believe it!” she gasped.

Nirvanah shook her head as she surveyed the community below. “It's incredible!” she marvelled, noticing the semi-circle of children that listened intently to a short, round partridge of a woman who cackled loudly as she taught them how to apply bandages to a smirking young volunteer. “Our research had uncovered theories about this place, but we'd never managed to determine its whereabouts.”

“Check out all the females!” The Cat yowled happily as he practically drooled at the sight. Plucking out a toothbrush from his pocket, he smoothed down his eyebrows before checking his immaculate visage in his hand mirror. “Time to make a lot of things mine!”

“Oh goodness!” Kryten’s rubber features lit with glee as he quickly followed his feline master down the staircase to greet them. “Just think of all that ironing!” His arms jerked happily, as if his hands were excitedly deciding on which housekeeping task to begin first.

Rimmer swivelled back to his old bunkmate who had remained strangely silent, hazel eyes flitting curiously across his face to read his reaction. “So what do you think?” he prodded verbally. “I know it’s not Earth, Listy. But I've visited a lot of worlds out there, and it’s as damned close as you’re going to get.”

Dark eyes were drawn to the team of young children that giggled as they played football below. The group cheered happily as a tall, fair-haired man jogged across to join them in their game. 

This was the _human_ side of the human race that he'd missed so very much. The community and belonging that his heart had long yearned for, beyond the tiny tribe that had kept him going all these years. 

Overwhelmed, Lister quickly swiped at the tears that threatened to gather with the soft leather of his glove. “Yeah, well – it’s alright, innit?” he replied, his voice cracking despite the mock-levity.

Following Lister’s gaze, the smile soon retreated from the hologram’s face as he too clocked the man that was now playing amongst the children. Chest heaving as he stared at him intently, he fumbled unseeing for the rail before racing down the staircase towards him.

“Arnold?” The petite redhead blinked her confusion before trotting down the steps behind him.

The computer bit her lip anxiously as she watched him hurry across the square before slowing into a cautious approach. Lister’s eyes strained to focus as the man turned back to face Rimmer, his angular face and long nose strangely familiar. The men stared in shock at one another for a tense moment before erupting into mutual cries of excitement, gripping each other fervently as they hugged.

Rose released a trembling sigh of relief. “Go on,” she whispered, her voice suddenly thick. She gestured to the pair with a sideways nod as Rimmer tentatively drew back to introduce Nirvanah who now loitered behind him. “There's someone I think he'd really like you to meet.”

A curious smile tugged at the corner of Lister’s lip at the sight. Rimmer barely liked being touched himself, let alone willingly embracing another human being. Whoever this man was, it had to be someone pretty special. 

Swallowing back the question he couldn't bring himself to ask, he turned back to the woman beside him, extending his hand in platonic invitation instead. “You comin’?” he offered. 

Kochanski’s eyes danced uncertain between him and the despondent computer as she leant down to rest her arms on the gantry rail. Finally she returned Lister’s expectant stare, tilting her head in apology. “I just need some time,” she bargained gently.

With a sad but comprehending nod, Lister withdrew his hand, proffering a reassuring smile instead before heading down to join them.

Once he was out of earshot, Kochanski joined Rose at the gantry rail, leaning onto her arms beside her. She watched as the reunion of the two men unfolded below, one that the computer clearly had no intention of joining. “You're not staying, are you,” she said quietly. It was an observation, not a question.

Impressed, Rose jetted a quiet snort at the acuteness of her perception. Not much got past that woman. “Time waits for no computer, I guess,” she explained sadly. “Or murderous simulant. Or evil GELF dictator.” She shrugged her relent, picking absently at the white paint that flaked away from the ancient metal. “I don't have a choice.”

It was always in these moments of loss that, in her grief, she yearned for the freedom to stop. That the soul which had left her behind would be the last butterfly that she needed to mourn for. 

But deep down she knew it could never be done. The Universe needed him, and therefore it needed _her_ too.

“It'll take me a few days to rebuild the DJ Drive from the blueprints,” Rose explained. “But once it's operational I can jump to another dimension and -- ”

Kochanski’s brow pinched sadly as she tailed off. She didn't reply. Instead, she plucked away the worrying hand, petite fingers wrapping comfortingly around it.

The computer patted gratefully at the hand that encased hers. “I can still take you home,” she offered, dropping into a thoughtful pause. “If that's what you still want?”

Kochanski gazed down at the ragtail group as they chatted animatedly to the handsome stranger. Crowds of people, young and old, were now beginning to gather around them. “I think I've already found it,” she decided quietly.

“Smeggin’ hell!” Despite the distance, Lister’s shocked voice wafted up clearly from the expanse below. “Are you serious?!”

Chuckling lightly, Rose released a bodily sigh that exorcised the demons she'd held onto for far too long. Reunited with his son and the woman he loved, her broken butterfly finally had the happy ending he deserved. His battered wings would unfold once again to form a key part of the immortal trinity that would now watch over The Colony together. 

“Tell them I said goodbye,” she managed.

Kochanski drew her into a tight hug, eventually drawing back to cradle her face. “Take care of yourself, you hear?” she whispered. 

With a mutual smile, Kochanski’s hands slipped from her cheeks. And with a final excited glance over her shoulder, she turned her back on her old life and trotted down the steps to join what remained of the human race.

 

*******

At first there was nothing. And then, there was _everything_.

Surrounding him stretched an infinite number of possibilities. Everything he could ever have been. Everything he had the potential to become. All of them were laid out as the multiverse spun dizzyingly around him; the lightbee that still buzzed with the DJ Drive’s abilities its newfound axis. His mortal mind threatened to implode at the complexity of it all.

Then, like the wheel from a TV game show, it began to slow; each reality clicking slowly along as the Universe thoughtfully debated which ending would be his fate.

It hovered, uncertain, at the all-too-familiar image of a planet encircled by a glowing ring of tiny coffins. His mind nodded both its comprehension and acceptance. _I'm ready_ , he declared without words.

But the Universe was not. Instead, it clicked over to another path for him, one that stretched endlessly towards a glowing light. 

And then, rather unceremoniously, it hurled him towards it.

 

******

As she trudged back into Wildfire’s cockpit, Rose jumped, startled, as she clocked the symbi-morph sat in the co-pilot seat. Her long, black-matrix legs were stretched out luxuriously, resting crossed on the console.

“W-what are you doing here?” she muttered in confusion, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “I thought you were - ?”

Juno wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Nah,” she dismissed. “I mean, happy endings are very cute and all that, but they're not my style. Too boringly conventional, y’know?”

Rose gave a long, protracted sigh of irritation, though deep down she was rather glad of her company. Even if it would only be for a few days whilst she explored this unfamiliar dimension in the time it would take for the DJ Drive to be recreated, it was better than the torture of solitude. Less time alone to brood over her thoughts. “So I'm guessing that you're fishing for a ride?” 

“Call it payback for my help back there,” Juno shrugged as she examined her nails, nonchalant.

The computer shook her head despairingly. “Everything always comes with a price for you, doesn't it?”

Plucking back her legs in affront, the symbi-morph wheeled back the chair to stand. “That's because I'm not a fool,” she bit back, glaring at her hard before tearing away her gaze once more to leave.

As she slinked past, Rose swallowed back her pride before snaring her by name. “Juno?” 

The ‘morph stopped, glancing back to her curiously. Any term of reference towards her had always been a mockery or an insult. Civility was quite the departure. 

Eyes darting awkwardly across the deck, Rose self-consciously spooned the lengthier red bangs behind her ear. They immediately tumbled back across her face stubbornly. “Thank you.”

Juno blinked her surprise before nodding gently in acceptance. “He was worth it,” she surmised sadly before disappearing towards the bunkrooms.

Rose sank down awkwardly into the pilot seat before firing up the engines and carefully guiding the ship back out into deep space. And with that, Wildfire’s computer was alone once again.

The engines hummed distantly as she navigated across the starscape, trying desperately not to think. It was far too quiet without him. No jibes, no jokes, no nasal whining, no mocking hero clichéd quotes. She bit her lip hard.

The countless stars began to quiver past watery eyes that sank closed as she finally allowed herself to cry. Despite her sadness, she marvelled at the tears of mourning that she'd never been able to shed before for the countless others she’d lost.

As her eyes opened once more, her CPU froze as the sky yawned open in another ugly tear, spitting out a single tiny glowing spot before sealing closed once more. The pinprick of light became a star that grew larger and larger in size and intensity against the eternal blackness of space.

No wait. That wasn't a star. That was _something else --_

Neon-blue eyes widened sharply.

\-- that was now hurtling straight towards her. 

Rose had just enough time to scramble out of the way as the pulse of light squealed through the cockpit window. The beam immediately materialised into a lightbee as it hurtled through the doorway to the midsection. 

Finally, an all-too-familiar outline of a man projected weakly around the tiny, precious piece of tech; just in time for him to crash into the far wall before sinking down into a groaning, flickering puddle onto the floor.

Numb with shock, the computer shook herself out of her paralysis and into the midsection to join him. She sank to her haunches by his side and closed her eyes in concentration in order to log onto the hologrammatic read-outs. Trace life-signs, as weak as the orange squash sold at a school fete, flickered faintly behind closed eyelids.

“My butterfly.” The words gushed in relief through the panic that had seized her circuits. “My brave, stupid, _brilliant_ butterfly.” As she quickly synced his program to Wildfire in order to recharge his ailing power levels, Rose glanced out at the stars that flickered back at her wordlessly. “Thank you.”

Eyes still closed, Rimmer moaned weakly as he felt the first surge of power to his lightbee. “Am I dead?” he croaked.

A laugh burst forth as Rose swiped away the stinging tears that had begun to dry on her cheeks. “You’ve been dead for almost two years, you silly sod.” 

Hazel eyes eventually fluttered open, struggling to focus on his surroundings. “What the smeg happened?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing!” the computer chuckled.

Rimmer shook his head dizzily. “It's all a bit fuzzy,” he mumbled, his mouth feeling like it was clogged with cotton wool. As she helped him to sit upright, he leant into her conspiratorially, a weak but distinctly smug wink not far behind it. “Mind you, I do remember kicking a _whole_ lot of arse.”

Rose rolled her eyes and grinned. If he was bragging, then he was going to be okay. “No, no,” she countered, she too dropping her voice in mock-secrecy. “I think, in actual fact, you may recall that you’re an arse _hole_.”

“Touché.”

Their levity retreated into a sombre silence as the self-repair buzzed on. “For a moment I thought I was joining them all,” Rimmer muttered eventually, desperately trying to dredge up the images that now seemed to want to scatter and hide in the shadows of his memory like dreams. “Then the Universe seemed to have second thoughts and spat me out here.”

Rose nodded in understanding, the complex orchestrations of the multiverse unfurling in her brilliant mind. “Just as the whole paradoxical event was never meant to happen, I guess neither were you destined to die back there,” she surmised. A small smile graced her lips as she shoulder-bumped him playfully. “The Universe obviously has further plans for you.”

“Great,” Rimmer sang dully, less than enthusiastic. “So I get to die in yet another new and interesting way. Lucky me.” 

Hazel eyes widened as a sudden thought struck him. “Lister! Kris!” he cried, dragging himself onto shaking, lanky legs with all the grace and balance of a newborn foal. “Are they - ?”

“They're fine,” Rose soothed as she helped him to stand. “See for yourself.”

The computer helped him to the porthole window so the pair could stare out into the dark stretches of space. The unmistakeable outline of The Colony was still visible against the purple glowing swirl of a distant galaxy.

“Smegging hell! It worked?!” Rimmer spluttered nasally. Suddenly self-conscious, he cleared his throat awkwardly, dragging back his ‘Ace’ vocals into an unprepared conscription to cover his tracks. “I mean - of course it worked.”

Rose shook her head subtly. He only ever used ‘the voice’ in front of her when he was trying too hard.

A horrible thought suddenly struck her. She glanced back to The Colony once more, suddenly anxious at the weight of the secret that she still inadvertently carried with her. This incarnation still had no idea that he even had a son, let alone that he was alive and thriving on the space station before them.

Her brow pinched, torn. She remembered all-too-well how the few incarnations that had discovered the truth had reacted when they'd found out. Each one of them had begged to relinquish the flame; to turn their backs on the vow they'd made to try and pursue him instead.

Although deep down she knew that he deserved to know the truth, a wretched but undeniable part of her didn't want to confess, for fear of losing him again.

She screwed her eyes closed, preparing herself for the worst. “Ace?” she prodded. At his lack of reaction, Rose worried at her lip. “Arnold?” And with that name, his attention was finally captured. “I - ”

The words clung stubbornly to her mouth like a half-chewed caramel toffee, refusing to be prised free. Rimmer returned her gaze, unabashed and unaware of the enormity of the secret that sat poised on her tongue. He blinked, staring at her questioningly. 

Eventually, Rose expelled the attempt with a sigh. “You could still join them, you know?” she hinted, gazing down at the Colony. “Finally. A nice settled life, eh?”

“I suppose - ” Rimmer agreed, although his tone was distant. 

Rose risked a sideways glance. His attentions were already elsewhere, his focus drawn to the countless stars that flickered at him flirtatiously. Same faraway look, different man. She smiled to herself. That right there. _That_ was the spark she'd known and loved for hundreds of years.

Encouraged, the computer sidled up to him less-than-subtly. “Or _perhaps_ you'd still like to travel with me?” She angled her head invitingly, a wicked smile now lighting her features. “There's a whole load more arses that need kicking, you know.”

A boyish grin stretched across Rimmer’s face, threatening to split it in two. Rose giggled with surprised delight as he swept towards her, one hand grabbing her by the waist and the other taking her by the hand. 

“Oh, Miss Rose,” he sighed dramatically as he began to clumsily waltz her across the deck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Arms folded as she leant in the doorway, Juno watched them churlishly. As the pair swept past her in a fit of giggles, she shook her head at the ridiculous spectacle. “You two look like idiots,” she announced flatly. “You know that, don't you?”

At the sound of her voice, Ace and his computer of a companion slowed, exchanging glances that spoke with more than words. With matching smirks, they turned back to the symbi-morph, the hologram extending a hand towards her.

“Care to join us?” Rimmer offered, wiggling his fingers in an invitation that promised so much more than its first impression. 

An eyebrow arched at the proffered hand before her look of disdain melted into a roll of violet eyes. “Maybe for one or two,” she bargained guardedly at both offers. “After all, _someone_ needs to make sure you're not making fools out of yourselves.”

With a playful chuckle, Rimmer reeled her in. “Too late for that, honey lips,” he mocked in the voice that he'd now claimed as his.

And to the tune of their shared laughter, they danced in the starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those of you who have read this fic, followed this series, left me kudos and comments, encouraged me to continue when I felt that I couldn't: Thank you. Your collective support means everything to me.


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